


Something There

by 1bad_joke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And so much self indulgence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Harry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming, Scent Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Top Draco Malfoy, Veela Draco Malfoy, glamours, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1bad_joke/pseuds/1bad_joke
Summary: "Please, don't look at me."Draco Malfoy returns for his eight year at Hogwarts with a secret sure to ruin him. It isn't vanity; he's downright hideous.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship, past Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger
Comments: 54
Kudos: 1153
Collections: Finished faves, Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is incredibly overdue. This was my contribution to the 2012 Do Me Veela Valentine's fest. Yikes, old, I know.
> 
> After some much needed editing and making peace with the fact I watched a whole lot of Beauty and the Beast and Phantom of the Opera when I originally wrote this, here it is along with the original prompt:
> 
> Pairing: Harry/Draco  
> Era: post-war and/or eighth year  
> Additions: happy ending, Ron/Pansy side-pairing, drastic changes to Draco's appearance, maybe he loses a bit of self-esteem because of it.  
> Scenario: When a male Veela comes into his inheritance, he loses his looks and physical charms. He only gets his beauty and his Allure back when his mate truly loves him. Harry notices that Draco is using a Glamour and is determined to find out why. 
> 
> In any case, hope you enjoy!

_:::_

_All changed, changed utterly:_

_A terrible beauty is born._

William Butler Yeats

“How do you do it, Draco?”

After a long, slow blink, his eyes slid from the familiar scenery of Scotland rushing past to Pansy staring back at him with her face in her palm and a fashion magazine open in her lap.

“Do _what_ exactly?” Her steady gaze sent prickles of alarm down his spine and his collar to feel a little tighter around his neck.

Did she see? Oh Merlin, did she know?

“How, after a few months without seeing you, you can go from a gaunt, sickly, little skeleton to this gorgeous specimen I see before me today. I'm jealous. Tell me your secret.”

The unconscious grip on his wand slackened. Still unnerved, he cocked his eyebrow and mustered a weak smirk. Thankfully his best friend didn't notice. “Why, Pansy dear, I'm hurt. A skeleton, really? Malfoys are naturally breathtaking I'll have you know.”

“Potions?”

The withering glare the prying witch received merely encouraged her.

“Was it Aphrodite's Beauty Elixir?” She tapped a pink nail on an ad of a truly stunning witch and wizard with luscious hair, golden skin, and perfect smiles that waved and winked at him. The twinge in his gut caused barely a ripple in his expression.

“No,” he replied quietly, tearing his eyes away from the sight with a surge of nausea. “Why the interrogation? You're magnificent all you're own.”

“Yes, but--” She sat back in her seat with a huff, her arms crossed childishly over her chest. “I have spots.”

“Spots? Where?”

“Oh how can you not see them?” At the blond's unconvinced look, she rolled her eyes. “Here. Here. And this abomination here.”

Draco squinted at the places her finger stabbed at on her face but could see nothing but smooth skin. Shaking his head and leaning back, he imperceptibly swallowed the lump in his throat. “There's nothing there. You're delusional, love.”

A flash of ghastly red hair passed by the compartment door's window.

“Think of it this way: Spots, although you have none,” he emphasized, “Come and go, but Dragon Pox freckles are forever.” He almost felt like himself again saying that.

Pansy was gazing out of the glass also, but instead of an agreeing sneer, a sadness clung to her soft features. “... I find freckles rather adorable actually.”

Draco's lips pinched in surprised disgust, his suspicions confirmed. He thought his friend had been staring at the Golden Trio a bit too much on the platform and her disparaging remarks about Granger had been extreme in frequency and pettiness, even though some had made Draco laugh out loud. He wasn't about to say anything now, but his friend's affections could go to more worthy suitors.

Or at least one more attractive--

Like he should be talking. A Weasley was less of an eyesore--

“Excuse me,” he muttered as he stood and ducked out of the compartment, pretending he didn't hear her calling after him on the way out. Just as he stepped out into the narrow corridor, he had to plaster himself against the door as a group of first years stampeded past in search of the sweets trolley.

That had been close.

Smoothing a hand down the front of his waist coat, he looked both ways, gray catching on a head of messy black hair farther down. His stomach swooped and lodged itself in his throat. With his insides screaming, he swiftly headed in the opposite direction, dodging students and locking himself in the nearest, empty restroom.

Grasping tightly to the edges of the sink, he kept his head bowed with his eyes squeezed shut. A pressure was building behind them and throbbing in his forehead.

“ _How do you do it, Draco?”_

Eyelids flickered open to pained slits. Slowly, in the sick lighting, gray irises met their reflection. They took in the creamy pale features, the straight slope of his nose, the trademark Malfoy blonde hair... he could almost believe it, but he knew better. His fingers traced lightly down his cheek, feeling rough, uneven skin where in the mirror his fingertips supposedly touched porcelain. Tears filled his eyes. Trembling, perfectly plump pink lips tore open in a snarl. Nails dug harshly into his skin, pulling and distorting, drooping like the effects of a stroke; it would still be better than-- than--

With a choked growl, the Glamour fell and his fist smashed into the mirror.

**:::**

His mother was the only other soul alive who knew; Lucius didn't much count, because the man was quite soulless since this past May. Until recently Draco could have never imagined he would be grateful for that fact, just so his father wouldn't know exactly what he'd become.

The short of it was he was a Veela. He discovered this May twenty ninth, a week before his eighteenth birthday. He remembered this, because he'd actually been excited for something again. The fact his blood wasn't as pure as originally boasted didn't bother him as much as before the Dark Lord's demise. If a wizard's blood had to be tainted with any magical creature, then a Veela was the most suitable choice.

A fury that transformed you into a fire-throwing bird and the whole mate thing was a small price to pay compared to beauty and power (in every sense of the word). At least he possessed only a quarter from his mother, so losing his temper wouldn't be a fire hazard, but everything else was in store for him and even though it was unknown and a tad frightening, he was eager for the change. It seemed to have worked out well for his mother and grandmother, so what did Draco have to worry about?

Only everything, it turned out.

**:::**

“Whatcha starin' at, mate?” A freckled hand waved too close in front of his face, jarring him out of his revery. With a non-lethal glare, he pushed the hand away and shrugged.

“Nothing,” Harry replied, returning to his meal. Peering slyly through his lashes confirmed that his friends were not fooled. “... what?”

Hermione and Ron shared a look, communicating something without words. Harry had hoped they would have stopped doing that after their break up, but apparently that was not to be.

“What?” He tried again, not enjoying their scrutiny over eggs and toast. One week back and it was already starting to feel like he'd never left.

Another series of darting eyes and wriggling eyebrows was exchanged before Ron buried his face into a plate of bacon and Hermione eased the large tome in her hands closed.

“Harry...” she started tentatively. “Ron and I noticed--”

An overstuffed throat cleared from the bacon's direction. Hermione's lips pursed in an impressive imitation of Professor McGonagall. “Fine. Just **I** have noticed you've been distracted lately.”

Dark eyebrows arched towards his hairline. “Distracted,” he repeated innocently as his hands crept towards his school bag in order to make a quick exit. Green eyes drifted across the Great Hall. “Hermione, you know I'm too focused on my NEWTs to be distracted, because, as you say, NEWTs are the single, most important--”

He fell silent once he realized she didn't appear to be buying it and Ron was gaping at him with his mouth full of half-chewed food -some even tumbling out- as if Harry had grown a second head. Defeated, he slouched forward and looked moodily between his two, best friends.

“I'm not distracted.”

Ron finally swallowed his food, and Hermione took a sip of her juice, both of them staring all the while.

After several moments of lip-chewing deliberation, Harry's spine snapped upright, his face twisting and pinching in confused frustration. “It's just--” he huffed, his gaze darting again to a spot between their shoulders. If anyone asked, he'd say his seating location had been pure coincidence.

“Harry, what is it?”

His mouth tightened into a thin line in a last ditch effort to trap the words back, but he knew it wasn't going to happen. He'd been through too much with these two. “... it's Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?” Ron spat, whipping his head around towards the Slytherin table. “What did the slimy git do?”

“Nothing.” Harry hastily corrected and deflated slightly. “That's just it; he hasn't _done_ anything.”

“Wait, let me get this straight: You're mad that Malfoy _hasn't_ done anything to you?”

“Well, not just to me.” Blood flooded into Harry's cheeks. “I mean he's different.”

“The war changed all of us, Harry,” Hermione stated.

“I know that, but he's---- too different. He doesn't make anymore snide remarks; he moves around people, not through them; there hasn't been any terrorized Hufflepuffs or first years; no slurs, nothing. I tripped and fell flat on my face the other day, and he walked right on by as if it wasn't a prime opportunity to insult me and have a laugh.”

His friends' eyes slid towards each other and shared one of those _looks_ again.

Ron shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Mate, if I were the Ferret, I'd be keeping my head down, too.”

“But--” He didn't know how to explain it. He knew blending into the background was the smartest thing the Slytherin could do in such a politically sensitive time. He knew this, “But--”

Hermione shook her bushy head. “So Malfoy's been humbled by his experiences and is, thankfully, quieter for it. Harry, I don't understand how this is bothering you so much.” Ron nodded along though it was obvious he didn't agree with the words, “Malfoy” and “humble” belonging in the same sentence.

“Fine, I'm just going to come right out and say it then. I think Malfoy's up to something.”

Three sets of eyes snapped to the blond Slytherin idly buttering a scone. His statement was met with groans and pained winces. Both of his friends started to gather their things and rise from the table.

“I'm serious.”

“We know.”

“That's what worries us.”

“You don't believe me.”

Hermione hoisted the last of her many books into her arm and staggered to adjust to the weight. “It's not that we don't believe you. We believe you sincerely think that, but... Harry, the war's over. I highly doubt Malfoy's involved in some nefarious plot.”

“Again,” added Harry.

“Again. If I recall, you spoke for Malfoy at his trial. Why would he jeopardize that?”

_Because he's Malfoy._

“I owed it to his mother. She saved my life.”

Hermione's eyebrows raised sharply like she believed there was more to his explanation.

Harry looked to his other best friend. “And I suppose you agree with her?”

With a rusty stain spreading from beneath his collar, Ron avoided the penetrating gazes of his friend and ex-girlfriend.

“Ron!” they chorused.

The redhead blinked with a start. “Oh, uh... do you hear that? I think I hear Ginny calling me, so I better--”

“No, I'm not,” his younger sister piped up from a few seats down the table, surrounded by her giggling friends. By that point the stain was creeping towards his hairline and Ron was darting uneasy glances between both glaring Gryffindors.

“Don't answer then,” Harry sighed. “You look like you might burst if you do.”

“Thanks,” Ron heaved, his freckled skin fading to a pink. He quickly tagged along with Dean and Seamus as they left the Great Hall.

“Harry,” Hermione called, drawing frustrated green back to herself. “Do you think maybe since Vol-Voldemort is gone, you're a bit... bored?”

His face went blank. “Bored.”

“Yes, you're so used to fighting all the time that now that you don't have to fight anymore you're... creating trouble when there isn't any. Instead of focusing on Malfoy, why don't you focus on more important things.” He followed the line of her shifty eyes to the youngest Weasley chatting with her friends, flipping her copper hair, and shooting longing glances his way.

He and Ginny had yet to get back together. The only reason Harry broke up with her was solely to protect her from the dangers of associating with him, except now that the war was over Harry hadn't exactly gotten around to saying more than two words to her. He was planning to -he really was- but to do that he had to make sure all threats were taken care of. It was the only responsible thing to do.

The Aurors had the remaining Death Eaters, but Harry had Malfoy.

Harry was going to find out what that sneaky snake was up to.

“Harry?” Hermione's frown was downright worried in light of the malicious grin that had slithered across his previously surly face.

**:::**

By the end of the first week of school, exhausted couldn't sufficiently describe a sixth of a quarter of how Draco felt. Aside from the predictable house prejudice against Slytherin he had to deal with, his magic had been steadily climbing its way to its limit. Upkeep of the Glamour was a full-time job, but dividing his attention between classes and watching his back only added more to his stress. He felt much like he did sixth year, save for the lives of his parents hanging over his head.

Somehow this seemed undoubtedly worse. Hopeless. At least back then there were some just as miserable as himself, but now unfortunately everyone was all smiles and good cheer.

It took months in the making, but Draco hated his very own existence.

A chime sounded beside his head, startling him from much needed (but ultimately useless) sleep. He'd set wards around his bed the night of the Welcoming Feast when he realized his lone eighth year status wasn't enough to warrant him a room of his own. Without Greg, Blaise, and Theo (two of which were now attending Durmstrang and one partook in the joys of home tutoring), Draco was lobbed in with the seventh years. The wards were necessary and would alert him to anyone trying to come within three feet of his bed. Behind the magically-sealed curtains was the only time he allowed the mask to fall and rest.

In one fluid move, he pulled his wand out from beneath his pillow then proceeded to wave it over himself. The face he'd grown up with -now the lie- settled into place with a chill. Seconds passed of a calculated pose before the intruder moved out of the enchanted perimeter.

Probably that wandering moron, Ben Bradledean, again. He flopped back with weary sigh, feeling his pretty face ripple and dissolve.

Sleep wouldn't make an appearance tonight, but he supposed on the bright side neither would his dreams.

He didn't know how much longer he could do this.

**:::**

The surveillance thus far was a disaster.

Then again, calling it a disaster would imply catastrophic events occurring whilst he performed said surveillance. In reality, it was near non-existent. Now that Ron and Hermione were no longer attached at the lips and preferred to be a decent distance apart from one another, they spent time with Harry separately. It was obvious they tried to make their avoidance of the other less awkward by the trio sitting all together at mealtimes, but Harry couldn't help but feel like a child in a custody battle. When he wasn't outside playing Quidditch with Ron, he was being dragged to the library, broomstick and all. It was tiring, and he only got to monitor Malfoy from a distance, but if it kept his friends happy then so be it.

He found the perfect opportunity one day halfway through Defense Against the Dark Arts. The new teacher, a Professor Humdinger, was average in every sense of the word. He wasn't better than Remus but was a fair bit more than his other predecessors. Harry had been itching to get started on discovering Malfoy's scheme and when the stout, little man announced in a nasally voice for the class to split into pairs of differing house, Harry could have sang the man's praises from the top of the Astronomy tower.

With that head of white blonde hair firmly in his sights, Harry ducked and dodged and he was almost at his target before majority of the class had risen from their seats; not that there was much of a race to get to the Slytherin. Malfoy and Parkinson were the only two eighth years in green and they shared a table in the back. The pair kept their heads down and their eyes studiously on their textbooks as their classmates began to scramble themselves.

Before Harry even arrived, Malfoy's head snapped up, his nostrils flaring sharply and gray eyes going wide. There must have been an eyelash or something in Harry's eye, because he could have sworn the other boy's face had _flickered_.

“Can you believe this inter-house unity codswallop?” He heard Parkinson mutter disdainfully into her book.

“I wouldn't knock it until you tried it, Parkinson,” Harry responded, startling the pug-faced girl although she was quick to compose herself and paste on a sneer.

“Ew, a Gryffindor... Draco, make it go away.”

But Malfoy didn't say anything. He only sat with a pinched expression as he glared up at Harry.

Harry shrugged with a smug grin. “Can't. You heard the professor: Groups of two of different houses.”

“As if I'd be your partner,” rebuffed Parkinson as she flipped her dark bob.

“Actually... I was hoping Malfoy would be my partner.”

The blond in question stiffened. His glare turning fearful and smothered by lethal.

“Everyone please find their partner quickly.” Professor Humdinger busily levitated desks and chairs to the walls of the classroom.

“Harry!” He looked over his shoulder to spot Ron still at their table, his face twisted and gesturing at Harry's present company. In return, Harry smiled benignly and turned back to the Slytherins.

“Ron doesn't seem to have a partner, Parkinson, and since you don't have a partner...”

For a moment it appeared as if the witch was about to argue, but a calculating gleam entered the sneering girl's eyes. It was quickly snuffed out by an eye roll and her pursed mouth twitching between a smirk and a smile. “... I suppose I could take care of my bit of charity for the century.” And with that, she was flouncing to go stand by Ron's side and his gobsmacked expression.

Malfoy wasn't fairing much better, wearing a face of disgusted betrayal. His frame was tense as he rose stiffly from his seat and flicked his wand. The desk banged against the wall while a sticking charm kept his and Parkinson's possessions safe.

“Let's get your apparent death wish over with, shall we,” he muttered tightly, stalking over to an empty space amongst the other already practicing pairs.

The entire time he didn't look at Harry.

Biting back a vicious retort, he went to follow.

The practical lesson was about performing a proper _Absorbeo_ shield. It worked just as the name suggests. Save for the Unforgivables, it broke down and absorbed incoming magic, acting as a safer alternative to the standard shield that deflected magic elsewhere, and it was bloody hard to cast.

Judging by the patches of Slytherin green hair, his runny nose, his very sore legs from involuntary dancing, among other hexes, it was taking Harry awhile to get the hang of it. Using the standard shield or simply jumping out of the way was what he was used to. He'd correct the several, easily curable afflictions, but Malfoy -who accomplished the task his first try- didn't leave him time to breathe let alone cast a _Finite_. It also didn't help that the entire class was watching him and Malfoy as if waiting for the inevitable explosion of a badly-brewed, highly volatile potion.

The professor stopped the class for another demonstration since others, like Harry, were taking longer than most; although, unlike Harry, their partners didn't rain a barrage of hexes upon them. So as everyone drew towards the front of the room, Harry began pointing his wand at various parts of his being and canceling Malfoy's handiwork.

“I see the wand is working out fine,” Harry bit out under his breath as he came to stand beside the blond, raking a hand through his hair and hoping it was back to its coal black.

Fine traces of sweat darkened the other boy's white blonde hair. Malfoy's cool eyes kept to the front as if Harry hadn't said anything. Harry didn't know why he expected some sort of a response for mentioning the return of the Hawthorne wand, whether it be a snide reply or, better, a Thanks at the very least.

After the Malfoy trials, Harry had woken up one morning, grabbed the stolen wand tucked away in his trunk, and apparated straight to the manor that housed a decent share of his nightmares. He knew it was something he had to do, but he'd been avoiding it so the sudden urge didn't strike him as odd until he was on the doorstep being led inside by a house elf. His embarrassment was made worse when the Lady of the Manor was the only one to greet him and sat down for an awkward twenty five minutes of tea. With bloodshot eyes and shaking hands, she explained that her son had woken up that morning feeling a tad under the weather so if he'd “Please excuse Draco's absence.”

Later, Harry discovered the day he had had his strange compulsion had been Malfoy's birthday -of all days- so of course he'd had more reason to be a git and send Harry only a note saying the words, _Thank You_. For what, it could be the return of his wand or a lot of things; Harry liked to believe it was the latter, but he wouldn't hold his breath.

At the moment, he rather have Malfoy snipe at him. Anything but this silent indifference. It reminded him of sixth year, and that only enforced his suspicion. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he always thought no matter how tight-lipped his rival could be, Harry would be the exception. He knew deep down it worked that way for him at least.

Harry snuck another glance at the subject of his thoughts and promptly did a double take. “The hell happened?!” he exclaimed, effectively interrupting Humdinger and gaining everyone's attention, though that wasn't his intention. His mind was racing through the few spells he managed to fire off and if any of them could be responsible.

Some girls gasped as the Slytherin's hand immediately flew to his face, a look of unadulterated terror brightening his slate gray eyes. His fingers drew down to the furious red rash that lined the underside of his jaw. Harry watched as it spread down his long neck and up, tracing the edges of his panic-stricken face.

“Here, I'll-- I'll fix it.” Harry raised his wand. “Fin--”

“NO!” shouted the blond and smacked it away. He stopped short at Harry's flash of shock and anger, his face a brief, crumpled picture before shaking his head and backing away. “Fuck off, Potter.” He sneered, his eyes racing to the room's other occupants until they locked once again with Harry's. A pained, inscrutable look crossed his pale face before he fled out the door.

“Draco!” Harry stumbled to the side as Parkinson barreled past. “Move, will you. Draco!” Bemused, he trailed after as she dashed out to the hall and paused, whipping her head both directions, lost. “Draco!” Her sharp eyes landed on Harry, and she took a threatening step towards him. “What. Did you. Do?”

He honestly didn't know.

**:::**

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” he chanted shakily under his breath.

It was the only word he knew at this point. To his own ears, his voice sounded breathy and unstable as he all but ran through the empty halls to the nearest lavatory. His head felt light, and he was sure if he came across another living soul and they saw him, he'd faint dead away. Draco could still feel the cool mask of the Glamour on his skin -the edges hot and itchy- but he couldn't be sure what they saw.

Of what _Potter_ saw.

The thought turned his stomach inside out and twisted it into a sick knot, and gratitude suffused his frantic heart when he found the restroom empty. He took care of the door with four different locking charms, because he had learned the hard way the importance of doing so. Even the memory of that from sixth year made his chest ache and not for the obvious reasons.

Draco tripped over his own feet to get to the row of mirrors, catching himself on one of the sinks. The porcelain felt like ice under his sweaty palms.

“No, no, no, no, _fuck_!” he whimpered, leaning close to his reflection while craning his neck and pressing his fingers around the scarlet biting into the sharp ridge of his cheek. So this was what they saw. “Fuck!”

His examination ended with his face buried in his hands. The Glamour faded away and took the vivid rash with it.

He had read this might happen. Repeated use of a Glamour for long stretches of time could irritate the skin, its magic clinging to the very surface and suffocating it. He thought he'd have more time before he had to devise a new solution and cast the Glamour sparingly, but for it to happen in the middle of class in front of Pott--

The dull stabbing in his chest intensified at remembering the last half hour of hell. Draco had been doing a fine job of staying away from Potter, so why couldn't the prat do the same? He thought their avoidance of each other was a mutual agreement - _because why would the Great Savior waste time on me?_ \- so when Potter randomly decreased that horrible distance, Draco's body was torn between running towards and away and he'd ended up paralyzed in his seat. He'd smelled the brash Gryffindor coming before he had made it halfway across the room; that wonderful scent filled his nostrils and his mind had gone blank. An unhealthy mix of soothed and riled.

Why, of all people, did his mate have to be Harry bloody Potter?

Months ago the dreams of fire were consumed by bright green eyes, and his nightmares of Fiendfyre were replaced by the strong grip of Potter's hand clutching his, a heat greater than the flames that radiated off his back, and how for a few moments when they were fused together by the sweat soaking through their clothes and the sheer desperation to survive, things had changed between them.

Well, at least for him.

Then Draco had changed, and the dreams that were filled with warmth and light and _love_ became punishing and crippling and left him bitter.

No way would Potter want him, especially now that Draco's outside matched the in.

Sadly, his resignation didn't stop him from hoping and dreaming and subsequently hating himself more. Potter was straight and even if he wasn't with the She-Weasel, he was the most sought after bachelor in the wizarding world. Pitted against a goblin, Draco Malfoy couldn't compete.

He wasn't even going to dive into their shared, turbulent history.

A high-pitched coo sounded from one of the stalls, or more specifically one of the toilets. Before recognition set in, his heart had leapt into his throat, because he thought someone had broken through his defenses and there wasn't time to cast a Glamour even if he had to wait several hours before it was safe to do so. He calmed somewhat when an icy touch smoothed over his shoulder and toyed with his hair. It was that ghost from sixth year; the sad, whiny one that kept Draco company while he was much of the same way.

He let out a shaky breath in the safe shield of his hands, recalling the many times the stress had been too much and had wept in the crooning dead girl's sympathetic presence.

She had comforted him then.

“Don't cry.” Her voice resembled broken wind chimes. “I don't think I've seen you before. What's your name?”

She didn't recognize him.

Sure he was hiding his face in his hands, but his hair was signature. She'd always swoon over it. The Malfoy blonde... except it wasn't anymore. No matter how much he washed it, his hair would remain greasy and the grotesque color of bile. He'd have torn it out if it wasn't for baldness being infinitely worse.

Hands mashing over his face, his nails dug into his forehead hard enough to leave indentations and heighten his headache to a new level. He wanted to rip his face clean off and go find Potter.

“Tell me what's wrong... I can help you.”

The canvas of black split apart by his minutely spread fingers. “... no one can help me.”

“I can if you tell me. I'm sure nothing could be worse than-- than-- than being--... DEAD!” Her shout transformed into an ear-splitting wail. Some pipes burst, and water washed over the floor and splashed onto his shoes.

Something inside Draco snapped.

He tore his hands away from his face and took an aggressive step towards the transparent girl who shrieked at the sight of him and dove into the nearest toilet with a large splash. A beat passed before beetle black, wide eyes that matched the size of her stupid glasses peeked over the rim. The sound of rushing water filled his ears as her revulsion filled his vision. His narrowed eyes burned, because if a silly, insignificant ghost was appalled by the mere glimpse of his face, how could his mate stand to look at him?

“You still think Death is the worst that could happen to you?” His voice splintered like glass. “Do you, you dumb, dead cow?!”

Chin wobbling, her pigtails whipped back and forth.

Her wordless agreement inspired the opposite of the malicious vindication he'd been hoping for. It left him deflated and exposed. He turned away and winced when five of himself in the row of mirrors stared back at him. “Please... just go.”

Whom exactly he was addressing was a mystery, even to him, but he thought the answer was clear when he believed himself to be alone long enough to feel cold vapor to flit onto his shoulder.

“What happened to you?”

He tried to shrug away from the ghost's touch, but that was useless. The gooseflesh and shivers stayed with him.

“... I was born.

**:::**

“Potter's looking again,” Pansy unhelpfully chimed as she idly stirred her soup.

The straight line of Draco's shoulders tensed for the briefest moment before settling again. With the increasing number of times she notified him of this, he was sure she had been having him on since he was determined to keep his back to the Gryffindor table and she would know better sitting across from him, but then again why would she? Pansy didn't know; there was nothing for her to gain by saying such things.

This line of reasoning raced through his head before the urge to reflexively turn his head in the direction of anything having to do with Potter won out, but he thankfully caught himself each time. Draco would not be made a fool.

“Everybody stopped caring about your strange whatever in class last week. Why do you think Golden Boy keeps--”

“Don't know, don't care,” Draco interrupted tersely.

Except that he did care, almost too much.

Before when their rivalry was a living, breathing thing, Draco wanted Potter to be looking just as much as Draco himself did. Now that he was afflicted with his own genetics, the vindictive want had transformed into a clean-burning need. A conflicted one at that. One of _Yes, do_ and _No, please don't_.

Draco had done his reading before his optimistic birthright went pear-shaped, although all the books in the Malfoy library containing information on Veela focused mainly on the ever popular female sex. Males were generally mentioned less -for good reason- but if Draco learned anything about the magical creatures, bonding with their mate cured most, if not all, of their ailments. Coming to this conclusion did little for him in the long run except reassure him his condition was hopeless.

Until now, with Pansy's chirps about Potter's supposed gazing, Draco hadn't considered his situation as cruel per se. Appalling, yes. Loathsome, of course. Soul-crushing, quite possibly. But never cruel. Cruel involved a suffering born of hope, a hope of which he knew had nothing substantial to cling to save for a dark, well-guarded area in his chest.

He sunk a little lower in his seat. Bloody Pansy.

Even though Draco shouldn't, he really wanted the feeling of burning, probing needles in his back to belong to Potter. His stare had to feel different compared to those of his classmates that were tinged with curiosity and disdain and left him itching like the hairy legs and antennas of cockroaches skittering across his skin.

Once he realized he was trying to convince himself his own paranoia had an impossible name, Draco was pushing his plate away and standing.

“You're leaving? You hardly touched your dinner.”

He looked down at his friend, tight-lipped and angry. Pansy's innocent concern forced his eyes to sharpen and intense heat to gather in his palms, invisible and swirling. Draco's face drained of color as he clenched his fists and buried them in the folds of his robes. Without a word, he hurried from the Great Hall.

After ducking into the nearest dark alcove, Draco frantically surveyed his hands for visual signs of the fire he'd felt there only moments ago, but they were cool and normal.

It was impossible. He must have imagined it. Draco didn't have enough Veela blood in him for his anger to manifest into the beginning stages of a hellish fowl.

And to be because of Pansy?

Stress. He was just stressed.

Nodding to himself with this feeble explanation in mind, Draco returned to his dorms to sleep and dream of wild hair and golden skin.

**:::**

Ever since Malfoy had run off in the middle of class, Harry didn't think of much else besides the Slytherin. His determination to discover Malfoy's most likely evil plot had increased tenfold. Harry watched and followed him wherever he went, and if he couldn't do so the map wasn't ever far from reach. Sometimes Harry thought Ron was coming around to his suspicions when his friend would sit beside him at meals and stare at the Slytherin table with an intensity, then disappear at odd times of the day and night, silently giving Harry his permission to spy till his heart's content. But when he mentioned such to the redhead, Ron -cheeks flaming- would deny his gazing and insist Harry was wasting his time.

In either case, Harry didn't think so. Okay, so maybe he was learning close to nothing by tailing Malfoy except that he religiously went to class and some meals but not much else, and his and Parkinson's relationship had grown distant. They still walked together to classes and sat together, but Harry didn't observe much in the way of conversation. All that told Harry was that the pug-nosed witch wasn't an accomplice, at least not on the surface, and that the blond must be conducting his business late at night.

At the moment though, Harry was in the library with Hermione, working on his neglected homework (as far as she knew). In reality his textbooks were open, clean parchment was in a neat stack under his poised quill, but his eyes were cast down to his lap where books on magical reactions, the results of common hexes cast incorrectly, and the effects of every day magic on the body were hidden.

For some reason, he couldn't let that strange rash go. It had obviously faded away, judging by his scrutinizing landing more times than not on that pale throat and less-pointed face, but Malfoy's reaction to it was what really bothered him. It couldn't have been fatal since Madame Pomfrey hadn't received a visit. That fear wasn't pure vanity. It couldn't be, and Harry was convinced that and Malfoy's scheme were related.

“Harry, the library will be closing soon, and you've touched your school work once this evening and that was to set it up. Did you actually think I wouldn't notice you were finding your lap more interesting than your Potion's essay?”

He looked up to find Hermione reading while her hand scribbled down notes. When her amused brown eyes flicked up to him, he knew he'd heard correctly and was thoroughly caught. The books he thought he'd done a good job of hiding were placed reluctantly onto the table.

“Before you say anything, I think you should realize and be grateful that I'm reading at all. I believe that's something we can both appreciate.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the different tomes. “You reading could only be a good thing, I'll admit, though let me guess: Does all that have to do with Malfoy?”

Biting his lip, he checked around them before leaning closer and lowering his voice. “Yes, alright, but it's for a good reason. You were there when Malfoy ran out of Defense. Don't you think there's something to be suspicious of? Mione, Malfoy's really up to something. I can feel it.”

By the end of Harry's rushed words, small lines formed between her eyes and a frown was tugging at the white line of her mouth. “... Harry... have you spoken to Ginny at all yet?”

His face twisted in confusion. “No? How does she have anything to do with this? I have to focus on Malfoy.”

“If this is...” A strange, indiscernible expression crossed her face and settled in her steady gaze. “That important to you then I'm not going to stand in your way.”

Harry thought her wording was a bit odd along with her mention of Ginny, but he wasn't about to dwell on it. It wasn't often his friend would promise she wouldn't nag, and Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He smiled gratefully then turned back to his books. The black print was too small and beginning to overlap.

A throat delicately cleared, drawing his gaze back to the bushy-haired witch grinning with pitying fondness. “Well?”

“Well... what?”

She reached over and splayed a hand over the top tome, drawing it towards her. “Harry, you're a smart and talented wizard with a heart of gold, but we both know research is simply not your forte.”

“Thanks, I guess... wait, does this mean you'll help me?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled. “Sometimes I do think you really are hopeless. Now, why don't you put that quill to use and write down every spell you had cast and every one Malfoy hit you with.”

He blinked down at the parchment. Why didn't he think to do that?

Eventually he grinned, slowly shaking his head.

It felt like old times.


	2. Chapter 2

Later that night, Harry sat up in his bed reading for the fiftieth time, _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , but his heart wasn't really in it. His eyes kept drifting to the map spread out beside him and landing on the dot labeled _Draco Malfoy_ located in the Slytherin dorms. It hadn't moved for hours.

He and Hermione had stayed in the library until Madame Pince kicked them out. They left with no answers or leads really, save for a stack of books on magical maladies and the long term effects of the usage of dark magic. Even though he felt slightly discouraged that Hermione didn't have an immediate explanation, he knew it was only a matter of time before she did. In the mean time, Harry would stick with his own strengths and that included--

His already forgotten book tumbled from his hands as he snatched up the map, eyes squinting despite the glow of his lumos. The corners of his mouth lifted into a grin.

“I've got you now,” he whispered to the dot moving quickly from the dungeons.

After gathering his map and wand, he threw on his invisibility cloak and hurried down the stairs into the common room. With everyone else in bed, the fires in the hearths were reduced to mere glowing embers that hardly threw light into the room. He crept silently regardless, not willing to risk any stragglers overlooked. Approaching the portrait hole, his visible hand reached out but stopped short when it was already swinging open. His hand snapped back under the safety of the cloak as he flattened himself against the wall.

_Ron?_

He watched as his friend gingerly closed the portrait behind him and proceeded to tip-toe past, checking for anyone around. Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he noticed in the dying fire the angry marks up and down the redhead's neck. He took a reactionary step forward with a series of questions on the tip of his tongue such as _Where have you been; Why aren't you in bed;_ and (most importantly) _Did you get into a fight with Mrs. Norris?_ But he refrained, realizing just as easily those questions could be around turned on him. Well, except for the last one. Harry was going to spy on Malfoy and no way would that resemble the results of a midnight tryst.

Once Ron was up the stairs, grinning goofily as he went, Harry rushed out of the common room. For a few steps he was bothered by the discovery his best mate wasn't in bed like he assumed and apparently he had a girlfriend to boot. _When did that happen?_

Those troubling thoughts bothered him for only a few steps until the cool air of the corridor reminded him why he was out here, and Malfoy once again took priority.

After two close calls with Filch, Harry followed Malfoy's dot all the way to the seventh floor. He'd slowed almost to a full stop when he realized this. As far as he knew, the only thing worthwhile on the seventh floor didn't hold pleasant memories for his rival, so why was he up here? During the rebuilding, Harry had broken away from the group and visited the Room of Requirement. There was nothing left.

Just before turning the last corner, Harry paused to tuck away the map and reaffirm the grip on his wand. That's all the time he allowed himself to waste. He stepped out and spotted Malfoy further down the hall. He was pacing in short circuits in front of the charred door, the only proof left of the enchanted room's existence. There was a desperation to the open and closing fists at his sides, a determination to the one-two-three-stop-look-start again. His face a mask of misery.

Just as Harry drew closer, the pureblood froze. His eyes fell closed while his face relaxed, his aristocratic nose lifting into the air. The sound of sniffing met Harry's ears -Malfoy's head tipping in different directions until his breathing stuttered then resumed in a long, deep inhale. Sharp, gray eyes flashed open and pinned Harry to the spot.

Harry's skin prickled. It was as if Malfoy was looking right at him, but that was impossible. His father's cloak was flawless. Despite this, he looked down and around himself to confirm no one else was around and he himself was well concealed. By the time he looked back, the blond was glaring down at the floor with his fists open and fingers twitching. Hushed, indiscernible words traveled down the hall and dissipated like wisps of smoke just before reaching him.

Malfoy must be trying to ask the room outright what he “needed.” Assuming that the other boy's stop and stare was a fluke, Harry carefully tread closer.

**:::**

“ _I need to get away from Potter. I need to get away from Potter. Please, I need to get away from Potter._ ”

Draco's lips were moving fast, out of sync with his breathing and the sound fading in and out to his own ears.

He had woken up in a cold sweat with his sheets sticky and tangled around him like a noose. A crushing weight was on his chest, forcing the pressure to rush and build inside his skull. Disgusted faces and scathing words still whirling in his head; they morphed into one face, just one, and that was enough to chase him from his bed and up flights of stairs all the way to the seventh floor still clothed in his soiled pajamas. He hadn't been back to the Room of Hidden Things since the night of the Battle when Vince died. At the moment, Draco couldn't care about that; he just had to get to the room that gave you things.

Maybe it would give Draco a new face.

He paced and wished and needed, but the black slab of wood never changed and after turning the cold, brass knob that left soot on his hands, he could only find a jagged scorch mark on the gray stone. A door that led to nothing. His pathetic need was the only thing keeping him there. The passing minutes linking into a heavy chain that trailed along behind him, waring at his resolve. Perhaps the room was truly dead, and even if it wasn't, it couldn't change his inherit being. Logic knew this; it just couldn't stop him from trying.

Until suddenly the stench of burnt wood that clung to back of his tongue was replaced by the most delicious fragrance. The urgency, all his worries, they all fell away in the arresting aroma of melted dark chocolate, his mother's roses, Quidditch leathers, and sunshine. The beast inside him crooned, and Draco's eyes snapped open, focusing on the area the scent was the strongest. He saw nothing there, and it confused the Veela in him.

The answer came to him in a lightening strike of terror and never before was he so grateful that casting the Glamour had become second nature. So here he was now wishing the room would or the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“ _I need to hide. I need to hide._ ”

The scent grew stronger then assaulted him in an overwhelming blast. His knees almost buckled.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” His favorite nightmare revealed himself in an inelegant yank of his cloak. Regardless of his life-mate disposition, Draco's eyes narrowed and a sneer pulled his lips. The Golden Boy would have an invisibility cloak to aid him in breaking all the rules.

At least he could take solace in the fact Potter was in his night clothes also, so really the situation could be worse.

“I could easily ask the same of you, Potter,” he replied, putting heavy emphasis on the P and Ts. If the boy kept his distance, Draco could get through this and act normal. Normal meant hating Potter, and his insides raged against the very notion.

“You're up to something, I know it.”

Draco could have laughed in spite of his warring instincts urging him to jump the prat. “Up to something? I pity the Aurors if that's the extent of your interrogative skills. I'm not up to anything.”

“Then why else are you trying to get in if you're not planning something?”

It was always there in the background, but the clear implication that Potter believed Draco to still be the same evil git _plotting_ was a punch to the gut. Like Draco had no other motivations besides doing harm or all things shameful. He was standing before where he thought certain things had changed between them. He was stupid to think so. His expression hardened into a blank mask.

“Can't I just take a midnight stroll? If you don't mind my asking, why did you testify on my behalf if you're convinced I'm committing crimes worthy of Azkaban?” He internally shuddered at mentioning the wizard prison, his mind shying away from thoughts of his father who was nothing more than a drooling bag of flesh. “... I may have my faults, but downright moronic isn't one of them.”

Potter was quick to respond, but he appeared taken aback that Draco would admit anything wrong with him. His dark eyebrows stitched together, while his mouth worked a bit uselessly. Draco's teeth clenched, because the Veela in him found the dumb, puzzled look adorable. That is, until his mouth became of use once again.

“And neither has honest or noble or decent or—or--”

“Stop, will you? I get it. The Savior thinks I'm a nasty, mean person. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go find a cold, dark hole to crawl into and despair over the knowledge that the Great Harry Potter doesn't like me.”

The sad thing was Draco just might. Not by his own volition, but his affliction was another matter entirely.

Familiar anger contorted Potter's face as he took a challenging step forward. “Not until you tell me why you're up here.”

“Same as you, or have you been following me?” Draco shot back and no, that wasn't hope tainting the end of it. Fighting to control himself and the Glamour, he missed the dots of color that rose high on the other boy's cheeks.

“Just answer the question.”

The Veela demanded honesty for its mate, and there was no way in hell Draco was going to do that so he said a sliver that wasn't really a lie. “I came to see if there was anything left.”

“The magic's dead. This is all that's left.” While emerald eyes traced the crisp edges of the room's door, shining gray eyes looked the raven-haired boy up and down.

“So it would seem,” he murmured appreciatively.

Potter must have heard something in his voice, because his glare refocused on Draco. “All thanks to your friend, Crabbe,” he said with a self-righteous jut of his chin.

The atmosphere in the already drafty hall dropped several degrees. Silence reigned long enough for Potter to look like he regretted his comment, but before his big mouth could make matters worse, Draco stood taller and smiled a brittle smile.

“Good thing Vince got what was coming to him, wouldn't you say, Scarhead? I wonder why you didn't save everyone the trouble and let me burn in there, too.”

He could see the effect his words had, and the human side of him didn't care, was satisfied by it even. The Veela could love Potter, but Draco didn't have to like him.

“Malfoy, I--”

“Oh spare me the doe-eyed hero's pathetic, penitent drivel. I've better things to do.”

_Like sleep and dream of you._

He kept his distance as he moved around his sweet-smelling obstacle, but his inner masochist came out when he took a grudging whiff as he passed. He shivered with it and for a moment didn't think he could walk away from his mate, but he pushed past it with the Malfoy pride wrapped snugly around the hurt that that Draco's mere existence personally offended Potter. Draco was still that eleven year old twat offering his hand in friendship to a boy that would rather spit on him than look at him with anything besides hate.

“Malfoy,” he started again, but Draco had gotten far enough away that it was easier, even though his insides were thrashing, wanting to tear away and give chase. All he had to do was hold onto his anger at the dismal turn his life had taken and keep putting one foot in front of the other, away from the cause and the cure to his curse.

Suddenly exhausted, he let the Glamour fall by the time he reached the sixth floor. If anyone saw him, he would know by the screams, but all he was met with was silence.

**:::**

Harry didn't arrive back to his dorm until much later. Guilt kept him from trailing after Malfoy, so he stayed behind and looked for clues, finding none when he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't believe that he'd said something so callous, so petty; he'd sounded like a snotty, fifteen year-old Malfoy making light of Sirius' death. Crabbe may have been a pea-brained henchman, but he had still been Malfoy's friend. Harry had no good excuse for it, except that he'd been so caught up in his dislike and frustration because the Slytherin was having the same effect on him since he was eleven and Malfoy remained his controlled and disdainful eighteen year-old self.

Maybe things had changed, and Harry was the only one who hadn't.

Back in the boy's dorm where he could now pick out Ron's snores amongst the insomnia-inducing cacophony, he pushed the books off his bed, confident the heavy thuds wouldn't wake anyone. His troubling thoughts chased him into sleep, especially the sharp stab he felt when Malfoy suggested he should have died also and the hurt in his eyes as he said it.

“Hey, wake up.” His eyes were open before Ron even parted his bed hangings and sunlight stung them. “Oh, you're up already,” he commented needlessly and moved away to grab his tie hanging off a chair lost under a pile of clothes.

Harry sat up without responding, pressing fingers to his forehead where just underneath an ache from hours of tossing and turning was festering.

“Didn't sleep well?” Ron asked over his shoulder as he fumbled with his tie in the wardrobe's mirror.

Harry's shoulders rose and fell as a grunt escaped him. His bleary gaze scrutinized the redhead's neck, finding none of the hickeys from last night. “Did you?”

“Oh, uh... I slept fine.”

Just to redirect his mind away from Malfoy, Harry considered asking about Ron's sneaking off like he was a good friend that had always noticed. Eventually he decided against it. If Ron wanted Harry to know then he would have told him. He understood the value of having your own secrets. His shameful interaction with Malfoy last night would be one of them. All Harry cared about was if Ron was happy. Also he was secretly glad that he'd moved on from Hermione. Their parting had not been the prettiest.

Feeling satisfied with shelving one of the things hanging over his head, Harry rolled out of bed and checked the map without a second thought. Dissatisfaction assaulted him once he realized his mind had returned smoothly to the Slytherin like gravity as his eyes sorted through the flurry of dots heading for the Great Hall and lit on one in particular. The guilt from last night reasserted itself.

The journey from his bed to breakfast was typical like every morning. Harry carried on with Ron as if nothing was amiss and bemoaned right along with him the fact that the eighth years students were ineligible to play on the house Quidditch teams. Hermione informed him on the stairs that her reading turned up no answers, but she thought she could be on the right track with magical allergic reactions. Harry wasn't as disappointed that the mystery needed more investigating than he thought he would be.

His seating was a single-minded, calculated affair. He searched out the nearest spot that would accommodate him and his friends then proceeded to nudge his way down until he was parallel to Malfoy's back. His gaze didn't stray as he felt around for food he wasn't much interested in eating until his fingers inadvertently landed in a bowl of porridge. He cussed and dragged it toward him since the glares he was receiving indicated he'd claimed it. This time he did tear his eyes away to search out something to wipe his hand on and when he looked back up, he reared back in his seat.

“Hi, Harry.” Ginny was sitting across from, smiling prettily.

“Uh, hey, Ginny,” he replied uncomfortably. Instead of the fluttering in his chest he usually experienced in her presence, he was too preoccupied wondering where the hell did she come from and if perhaps if she tipped her head and flipped her hair a little more to the side, he could still see Malfoy.

“How are you this morning?”

“Hmm? Oh, fine... fine.”

Whatever she said next was lost under the scheduled commotion of the post arriving. Owls flooded the hall, dropping parcels and letters. A wing clipped his head as he sat up a little straighter, eyes following the large eagle owl that stood out amongst the mess of feathers. It swooped towards the Slytherin table and landed in front of Malfoy. The easy way his posture fell just to this side of perfect noticeably snapped ramrod straight.

“----before winter break.”

His nostrils flared when Ginny's face poked back into his line of sight. “Sorry, what was that?”

The sour look on her face was replaced by a sweet smile and a bat of her lashes. He wondered if something was in her eye. “Some of the students approached McGonagall about the idea of more unifying efforts among the houses. There's to be a masquerade ball for Yule just before winter break. Isn't that exciting?”

Harry craned his neck to peer around her - _was her face always so wide_ \- to find the blond's head bowed, reading, he assumed.

“Harry?”

“Sounds terrible,” he replied absently. His brow furrowed as he watched the parchment in Malfoy's hands disappear into his robes. Distantly, he heard Ginny laugh and say something else, blushing as she did so from what he could tell in his periphery. Malfoy rose sedately from the table and walked to the double doors, but Harry knew an urgent gait when he saw one. Sixth year sprung to mind. As if him and the Slytherin were connected by an invisible tether, Harry scrambled from his seat, bumping shoulders.

“Harry!”

Green eyes flitted from the doors to the youngest Weasley gazing at him expectantly. “What?”

“Well aren't you going to answer me?”

“Right, um... yeah, sure okay. Sorry, Ginny, but I really have to go.”

This apparently didn't bother her since she was already up and skipping towards her small cluster of friends who squealed and clapped excitedly at her bobbing red head. Harry couldn't spare a moment to puzzle over the disturbing nature of girls; he was up and stalking after Malfoy with Ron calling and Hermione shushing him.

He met a few stragglers rushing past him in the Entrance Hall, but Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. After hastily checking the map, he was out the front doors of the castle and walking a fast clip towards the lake. By the time he saw the bright blonde dot in the distance, he slowed, finally realizing what he was doing and that he didn't know why he was doing it. This was Malfoy he was chasing after, not one of his friends. He hadn't been thinking the prat was running off to perform some dastardly deed at eight in the morning, but because he looked upset.

Harry still didn't have an answer when his feet carried him closer to his rival sitting hunched over on the grass, glaring at him. He'd been quiet; it was unsettling how Malfoy could sense him coming.

“What are you staring at?” Malfoy spat.

“You're sitting on the ground.”

“Yes, and? Does the Chosen One own the grass now?”

The spike of irritation was dulled by the absurd shock he felt over such a sight. “It's just.. you're always so poncey and pristine all the time. It's surprising.”

Malfoy's sliver of a top lip quirked into a sneer. “Ever heard of cleaning charms?”

Point. Harry nodded and then just stood there, hands fidgeting.

Eventually Malfoy snapped, “What is it that you want, Potter? Come to say that I shouldn't be allowed in the castle due to my evil core, going to taint the ickle first years, no doubt.”

“About that... I- … I want to...” A bitter taste swept over his tongue. “Apologize.”

“Was that it? Good, you can go now.” The blond turned back to facing the lake and a crinkle drew both sets of eyes to the same parchment Malfoy had received at breakfast. Malfoy saw the direction of his gaze and shoved it in his pocket. “I said go.”

“Does the Pureblood Prince own the outdoors now?”

Narrowed gray eyes rolled and settled on the lake's surface, determined to ignore him. This went on for long minutes until, with a huff, Harry threw up his arms and stomped away. He made it approximately five paces before stopping and spinning around.

“What's wrong with you?!” he exploded.

Malfoy had surprisingly already been watching him go, but his expression barely rippled at Harry's sudden exclamation. It was at the same time eerie and aggravating.

“You couldn't even begin to imagine.”

“Bullocks! You don't act like yourself anymore. You're quiet; you're less of a mean prick; you're not nice -you never were- but you're not harassing people like you used to. You haven't called Hermione a mudblood or made fun of Ron for being poor--”

“Do you want me to?”

“No!”

“It sounds like you do.”

“I don't.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“You! You're the problem! You're the one thing in my life that's supposed to stay the same. I've never been treated normal, but after the war it's gotten so much worse. I can't go anywhere without people crowding around me, demanding autographs and--- and expecting me to **fix** everything. So many friends I had before are gone, and everything's so different now, not even Ron and Hermione, they hardly talk to each other on their own. I thought things would be like how they always were coming back here, but they're not. Ever since first year, you've always treated me like less than nothing special and fuck if it didn't piss me off and make me grateful, but now you're not you when I need you to be the git I knew in first year!”

By the end of his diatribe, he was red-faced and panting, glaring down at Malfoy whose face remained placid. The only signs that Harry's venting had any sort of effect was the corded tendons of his neck standing out in stark relief and the curling of his long fingers in the tangled grass.

“My apologies for not remaining eleven years old for your convenience.”

“That's not—” Harry ground out then collapsed next to Malfoy, zapped of his anger. “What I meant,” he sighed.

Unnoticed by him, Malfoy's face tensed and he scooted away. Moments passed until a shaking hand warred against him as it moved to hover over the despondent boy's shoulder, but it only became a ghost of a touch. The hand turned into a fist and joined its twin in his lap.

Gray and green stared off at the lake as the Giant Squid broke the surface before dipping back under into the water's murky depths. Nothing was said for dragging minutes, and the fact they were both missing their first lesson went unmentioned.

Cheeks pink over his spontaneous purging, Harry peered out from the corner of his eye to find his childhood enemy darting glances back. The old Malfoy would have jumped on the revealed weakness like a predator attacks wounded prey and would make sure Harry regretted it, but at the moment he was staying his irritatingly uncharacteristic self, except Harry wasn't finding it as irritating. It was almost... refreshing.

With an internal groan, he mashed his face into his bent knees, because apparently nothing would satisfy him. Malfoy was meant to hack him off either way.

“... I know what you meant,” finally broke the silence.

Harry lifted his head and looked at the blond. He was closer than Harry thought and picking at his nails. Gray flicked up through a fringe of white.

“You do?”

“You're not the only one dealing with... changes this year.”

Harry nodded at this. Something random occurred to him. “Hey Malfoy, is this the first time we've been remotely civil?”

“If by civil you mean gone the longest without trying to eviscerate each other then... yes.”

Both of their mouths twitched and split into shy grins.

**:::**

For the rest of the day, Draco was useless. His distraction was all-consuming. That morning was in constant replay inside his head. It had to be, because 1) It was time, albeit awkward time, with his mate. And 2) It was better to think about then the letter he had received from his mother.

She was doing well, only concerned and inquiring about his health and the search for his mate since those two were irrevocably connected. Every day he went unbonded was an increasing measure of deterioration of his well-being. He knew this; he'd read about it; he could feel it. It was only his pureblood upbringing that kept him from slouching at every available opportunity and making the constant yawns he had to swallow less obvious. A steady supply of Pepper-Up potion and coffee were the only contents in his stomach since the Glamour was a drain and the Veela side of him was despairing without its mate so his appetite was now non-existent. He didn't know if his lack of eating affected him on a visual scale considering he made it a rule to avoid all reflective surfaces. He hadn't seen these things as cause for worry though, not yet at least.

Now thanks to his mother's letter, _yet_ had come far too soon and the stress and anxiety her polite words incurred had had him speeding outside and considered seeking refuge at the bottom of the Black Lake. He hadn't, obviously, because just as he had re-read her thinly veiled worries and decided to go for a swim, a delicious smell was carried over by the breeze.

What had had happened next was strained and odd. Seeing Potter so vulnerable had had his inner Veela fighting to protect and comfort while Draco himself was simply dumbfounded. Potter was supposed to adore his fame and adulation, not hate it and need Draco to be an arse to him. He was so confused.

Even though Potter was on his mind like a migraine, Draco avoided him like the plague.

After sitting and staring at the scenery, there at last came an unspoken agreement to get up and go their separate ways to whatever class it was that time of day. Draco had made sure their paths didn't cross since. His mother's warnings still weighed heavily on him, but his first reaction's distress had dulled some in the wake of the events following. Draco could reluctantly admit that the interaction had soothed him, but he knew nothing more would come of that.

“Is this seat taken?”

His eyes rose from the paragraph he'd read three times already and still didn't absorb a word of it. They widened at the first and last person he wanted to see.

Potter stood uncomfortably beside the work table, his hand jerkily pulling out the chair opposite from Draco. He dropped into the seat without waiting for a reply.

“Generally you have to have my permission before sitting,” he said incredulously. He wasn't too concerned about the volume of his voice, because he'd made it a point to pick the farthest, most secluded area of the library to work ahead on his schoolwork and just so no one would bother him. Draco had been considering dropping the Glamour but was now extremely glad he hadn't.

The Gryffindor only shrugged as he took out his books and parchment. With the nearness, Draco's quill was about to snap. Potter didn't notice or just didn't care by the way he started right in on his Charms homework. This went on for minutes until Draco could stand no more. The quill was a mangled knot with matted feathers in his sweaty palm.

“What are you playing at?”

Emerald eyes shone innocently behind those silly glasses. “I'm not playing at anything. I just need a place to study.”

Draco snorted derisively, which he would deny if mentioned, because Malfoys do not _snort_. “Right, and you just happen to have chosen the most remote part of the library where I am?”

“Crazy random happenstance?”

“See I would be tempted to believe that if not for certain damning facts stacked against you. You don't study, your reading just now had been halfhearted at best since you've been on that page for the past five minutes. There are plenty of other **empty** tables, and don't you have a pet mu-- Granger that practically lives here with whom you can work along side?”

The nonchalant facade fell away at Draco's almost use of the word, “Mudblood” which boggled him slightly because wasn't that what Potter wanted?

“Fine, maybe I was just curious, alright?”

“Curious?” Draco frowned, then scowled because majority of the conversation was comprised of volleying questions where little information was exchanged. He was not going to be the one to shift things though. “Curious about what?”

But Potter didn't seem inclined to answer by the way he glared and ducked his head, resuming his work. He didn't leave though, and that's what piqued Draco's interest and kept the Veela at ease.

“If this is your sad attempt to spy on me--”

“It isn't,” cut him off through gritted teeth.

Draco sat back in his chair, nonplussed. He didn't know what to do with this Potter. He had ideas, of course, most of which that would make a Knockturn Alley whore blush, but the mere notion of them coming to fruition paralyzed him with fear. As talented as a wizard he undoubtedly was, Draco couldn't uphold a Glamour through such... monopolizing activities. No one, especially his mate, could see him.

And also there was that nasty business of the boy hero being straight and having a girlfriend.

He shook his head at the depressing direction his thoughts were taking. The future was a hazy entity he couldn't bear thinking about, because he knew it would resemble the detailed illustrations of the Veelas that never mated in his books.

_Cruel_ once again sprang to mind as his eyes surveyed the black, scruffy head across from him. They traced the line of a straight nose and the hard contours of a sloppily shaven jaw, landing on callused hands. His imagination ran wild with those hands. His pupils sharpened and shrunk to pinpricks before expanding till a thin ring of gray encased them. Distracted, his Glamour faded in and out, forcing him to divert his attention elsewhere, namely the parchment Potter might as well been doodling on.

“You do realize that's all wrong,” he pointed out.

The scratch scratch scratching of the quill paused. Green eyes flashed over their round lenses.

“Well, it is.” Draco shrugged, petulant over the same glare he'd grown up with leveled at him. The Veela was a tetchy nuisance, urging him to please and impress his mate. “... I could help. Er, if you'd like...”

The glare remained steady on him long enough for his mating instincts to war against his concentration on the Glamour and the chair beneath him to feel as if it were made of stone. Then without noticing something shifted in Potter's eyes and drew his brows together.

“Really?” he murmured uncertainly.

A warmth unexpectedly unfurled in Draco's chest, and he cringed at it. “Yeah, sure,” he said, for once without a snapping retort.

“Okay...” Potter scooted his chair closer and turned his work so they both could see it, all the while eying Draco like he still didn't quite believe him. For whatever reason, in spite of the years of animosity, this slightly offended Draco.

_Well, I'll show him._

Draco pulled his chair and angled his body just as Potter had done. He ignored the impulse to keep moving forward and dive over the table, tackling the Gryffindor, and instead decided to pretend it was Goyle he was helping. Then again Goyle never appealed to something primal and near uncontrollable inside of him.

Kicking himself, he focused on the text more than the boy staring at him with distrust over the rim of his spectacles.

“To begin, the incantation written here...” Draco started shakily and eventually gained more confidence when it appeared Potter was actually listening.

The first time Potter reached over and pointed on the page and questioned a theory when applied in certain situations, they shared uneasy smiles.

The unusual calm from this morning resurfaced and carried through into the evening until the torches in the library were extinguished and they were forced to leave.

**:::**

Once the initial astonishment wore off after that night without hexes being thrown, the tutoring sessions became a regular occurrence. Draco would skip dinner and eventually Potter would make his appearance and ask if that one seat was taken. He asked every single time, and Draco would nod, sometimes rolling his eyes and other times smothering a grin. Then they would get down to work. After two weeks of this, Potter was showing a marked improvement and slowly conversation evolved into more than just education.

One day he had randomly stated, “I don't want to be an Auror.”

Draco had lifted his eyes from the book he had been fruitlessly reading. All he could manage during these sessions was keeping his arse glued to his chair and breathe in that glorious scent. In reply to the Gryffindor's seemingly serious announcement, he murmured,”Splendid, because I don't want to be my father. We'd truly be mortal enemies then.”

Potter's confusion was wiped away by a sudden chuckle once he realized the Slytherin had made a joke. The chuckle had become a laugh. “There'd be no hope for us.”

Draco had never heard Potter laugh before. He'd seen it when they were younger across courtyards and rooms while he was surrounded by his many followers, and maybe he had a cruder, sharper version dripping in venom spat at him during their many scuffles, but not this light, sincere laugh that was music to Draco's ears. Well, at least to the Veela's. It was surprising and unfamiliar and Draco was determined to make Potter laugh at every opportunity.

After that the conversations went from stilted to easy and spanned different subjects, but Draco never mentioned his father again. There were topics that were avoided by unspoken agreement, such as their past rivalry, their families and friends, and anything having to do with the war. Potter had tried to come close once by asking about Draco's reclusive behavior - _a personality transplant_ , he'd jokingly said- and Draco had cut the day short and left. The message was clear then, and Potter didn't mention it again.

Although it was against his Slytherin mentality (which the other houses refused to see as common sense), he found himself relaxing around the other boy as much as he was able while keeping his mating instincts in check and the Glamour intact. In the middle of their talks, Draco had realized he was _enjoying_ Potter's company and he rivaled the self-disgust with a good dose of resignation. Not much could be done about it when every night a smug grin couldn't be wiped from his face while his chest felt too tight and his pants even tighter because his mate was always _right_ **there** but so far out of reach. Time with Potter was sweet torture, a customized circle of Hell that he never wanted to leave.

It was agonizing, but at least it was something.

**:::**

Harry didn't know how it happened. He had meant to study his old rival from a distance, but one impulse later and they were studying together and had become -dare he think it- _friends_. No, that couldn't be right; him and Malfoy could never be friends. Case in point they still didn't call each other by their given names. They didn't talk past the musty bookshelves that shielded them from the rest of the world. They didn't acknowledge each other outside of the library, not really. But the eye contact in the halls and across crowded rooms, communicating different things, though nothing of import, created doubts in him. They couldn't be friends, not with their history and backgrounds, but they talked like almost friends in the library. They helped each other out with their schoolwork like friends do. And Harry couldn't remember in recent memory when he'd laughed so much or his chest feeling so light.

There were other things he felt, but he stubbornly refused to think about them.

At the moment they were currently at their secluded table in the library, their books abandoned, as they were both nearly doubled over laughing at the memory of that day's Charms lesson.

“I can't believe Smith did that,” Harry found the oxygen to speak.

“I can. Zacharias Smith is an absolute prat.”

“Even more than you?”

“Yes, surprisingly.” Draco - _and sweet Merlin he was thinking of him as Draco now_ \- smiled widely.

A hitch in his breathing that the laughter could mask started at the sight of - _yes, fuck it_ \- Draco smiling. It opened and brightened his face, making him look younger and handsome, and it was almost disorienting since Harry was used to cutting edges and thin lips framing pearly white fangs.

Sobered by the jolt that blindsided Harry with practically every crescent smile, his joviality dimmed to a weak grin. “You're probably right about that.”

“Pssh, I'm always right, Potter. You've just been too thick to realize it.”

“I take it back. Smith isn't even half the prat you are.”

Draco reclined back with a quirked brow and a cocky smirk, like he'd settled the argument with that one arrogant expression.

Luckily the lighting was warm and dim enough to camouflage the heat biting at the edges of Harry's face.

“Arse.”

“Wanker.”

“Berk.”

“Git.”

“Ferret.”

“Oh real mature.”

“Thank you, I thought so too,” Harry retorted cheekily.

Gray eyes narrowed. “You're lucky you're--”

“Harry?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Hi Ginny.” Realization kicked in and his eyes stretched in alarm. “Ginny!” He leapt out of the chair as if he'd been seated on hot coals and faced her. “What are you doing here?”

She took a step closer, eying Malfoy suspiciously. Harry could only imagine the scene she walked in on: Him and the Slytherin talking together, laughing together, and not a drawn wand or punch thrown in sight. “... I was looking for a book, and I thought I heard your voice. What are **you** doing?”

All the moisture and explanations evaporated from his tongue. His mouth worked uselessly as his pupils bounced between his ex-girlfriend and Draco. “Uh... I-- uh... we were, um--”

“Potter here rudely intruded on my studying and thanks to you, there are two bloody Gryffindorks ruining my concentration,” drawled Draco, his tone a symphony of abhorrence and irritation, but his expression spoke differently.

See Harry hadn't learned much about the blond's personal life, but he had learned things about _him_ , like for example his mannerisms. Harry could tell the sincerity of a smile or if he thought the receiver deserved polite disdain for being a moron just by the amount of teeth shown and the crinkled edges of his eyes. A smirk could mean many things, it all depended if it was paired with drawn shoulders, a jutted chin, or a tilted head. At the moment now the scowl wrenching his face wasn't a reluctance to grin, it was all too real.

“Now kindly bugger off,” he spat, aimed more at Ginny than Harry, although Harry wasn't sensing much of a difference.

Ginny didn't seem to care either way. Her eyes narrowed to slits as her lips pinched, creating a white pressure within the flush marking the beginnings of the Famous Weasley Temper. “You leave. It's two Gryffindors against a slimy Death Eater.”

Harry looked up at her in surprise. “What--”

“An _innocent,_ **ex** _-_ Death Eater, thanks to your b- your boyfriend.” Draco's smirk was sharp enough to cut glass, but there was something wrong in his gaze when it went from Ginny to Harry and back to Ginny again.

“Harry was just taking pity on you, even though you should have been Kissed like your worthless father,” she shot snidely, and it hit low and right on target.

Draco's head snapped back as if he'd been slapped. He looked at Harry, wanting him to say something but knowing he wouldn't, and Harry felt like shit, because he knew he _couldn't_. As if Harry had confirmed his suspicions out loud, Draco's pale face hardened and a polished sneer twisted his lips. Harry knew in that instant it was Malfoy he was dealing with.

“I'd rather be soulless than chasing after a celebrity crush, swooning and drooling like some bitch in heat, dreaming of a life with your famous Auror husband and three ghastly ginger children and the many high-society balls you'll have invitations to, all the while spreading your toothpick legs for anyone who'll so much as look at you, because we all know Golden Boy here certainly doesn't.”

“That's a lie!” The youngest Weasley's face was bright red.

Malfoy was unmoved even if he did look a little sick. “There's little discretion in the seventh, sixth, and even _fifth_ year dorms, and that's just Slytherin. Who knows how much disease your fire crotch is spreading. I feel like I should bathe just by having to lay eyes on you.”

Small fists were shaking at her sides, any second now about to reach for her wand. She stomped her foot and whirled on Harry, reminding him he was even there. “Are you going to stand there and let him talk to me like that?!” she shrieked and most likely alerting Miss Pince. “Well?!

All Harry could do was gape. He'd just been assaulted with a lot of information about the girl he thought he'd eventually spend the rest of his life with. Yeah, Draco may have an acid tongue, but his words wouldn't be so corrosive if they didn't have some measure of truth. Then again Draco was still Malfoy. Harry had to defend Ginny, because it was expected of him. It was the right thing to do.

“Take it back,” he demanded in a low tone.

Malfoy's subtle surprise shifted him back to Draco. “She started it.” _She brought up my father._

“Apologize!”

Right at that moment Miss Pince came bustling around the corner, commanding the three of them to leave like a banshee with its volume turned way down. Ginny was quick to take him by the hand and do as they were told, Harry tripping along after. He regretted what he said immediately after he said it, especially once he caught a glimpse of Draco's hurt expression.

Later Harry returned to their spot as soon as he could get away from Ginny and her ranting about Malfoy's outrageous lies, but Draco wasn't there. Nor was he the next day. Or he day after that.


	3. Chapter 3

“What is wrong, Harry?” Hermione snapped and closed the book cradled in her lap with a crack. It was easy to tell her limit was reached and exceeded by the small gesture of setting a book aside.

“Nothing,” he replied tonelessly as he stared into the flames of the common room's fireplace, his leg bouncing at a steady, snare drum pace.

“It's clear something's the matter. You've been like this for days, and don't think that I haven't noticed your marks have been slipping just when there was such a vast improvement--.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

Her lips pursed so tightly her mouth vanished from her face. He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head; it was annoying but nothing he wasn't used to, he could ignore it.

“Harry...”

Half-listening, his head tilted in her direction, his gaze distant and his thoughts even farther than that. The subject of those thoughts fueled the sick, anxious churning in his gut ever since that day in the library, and renewed still with each time he returned to find no one and the shared glances were broken and out of sync.

“Harry James Potter, talk to me. Did Ron do something? Did I...?”

He just couldn't ignore it for long. “No,” he sighed, hanging his head. “You guys haven't done anything.”

_I did._

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing.”

Her heavy, long-suffering sigh might as well have said,” _Now we're back to this again._ _”_ After minutes passed and she hadn't continued her prying, his leg returned to its jittering.

Then again he had a nasty habit of assuming things.

“Well if you're not going to talk to me, I suppose you're not interested in some new information I discovered about Malfoy--”

He reemerged and blinked, the glowing image of the fire burned into his vision and fading. “What about Malfoy?”

“Good to see you've joined the conversation,” Hermione said with a delicate sniff. He shot her a quelling look. “Fine... I didn't find anything,” and it appeared this fact greatly bothered her. “I just wanted to get your attention, and I knew that mentioning him was a sure-fire way to do so.”

Harry's leg bounced in place faster, the muscles barely tiring. It wasn't the fact that Hermione tricked him, it was that he completely forgot the research and investigating, and his suspicions of Draco had evaporated into thin air.

“... did something... happen between you two?”

He turned to look at her, his leg slowing. “H-how do you mean?”

Another sigh, but this one was followed by an affectionate grin. “I practically live in the library. You don't seriously think that much happens there that I don't know about.”

The leg stilled. “I don't know what you're--”

“Harry, it's okay. I think it's great you've become friends with Malfoy. It's very mature of you both to set aside past animosity from a childish rivalry.”

“We're not friends.”

Confusion spread across her face; it was a rare sight, and he couldn't even enjoy it. “It looked like--” Then she gasped, slapping a hand to her mouth and looking at Harry like he was some monster. “You aren't pretending to be his friend and spying on him, are you?”

The disgust in her tone stopped him short. “N-no... I-- wait, you don't even like him!”

“It's true I don't much care for him, but what you're doing is just plain mean. Malfoy's not up to anything, and I think you know that.”

He did, and that's what bothered him, how fully he believed that. “I know he's not, okay? And I'm not _spying_ either,” he added.

“Good, because even though Malfoy's a brat with an over-inflated ego, he doesn't deserve that. But then... what are you doing if you're not friends or spying?”

“I'm-- well--” He cut himself off with an irked twist of his face. If there was an answer it couldn't be put in words and it hung hazy and brilliant in the background. “Why are we even talking about this? Me occasionally hanging out with Draco isn't anything important.”

“Draco?” She pointed out with an inscrutable expression.

“That's his name, isn't it,” he retorted in a weak effort to cover his slip.

Hermione moved from the armchair she'd been curled up on and sat beside him on the couch. Her gaze was serious as she took one of the fists balled in his lap, easing it open and linking their fingers.

He could tell that whatever she was about to say wouldn't be anything he'd like. When she started out by saying she loved him, he wanted to run.

“Harry... it doesn't take a genius to connect the dots: Every day that you spent time with Malfoy, you were smiling a lot more and laughing. It was the happiest I've ever seen you, to be honest. Now after your fight or whatever, you've been basically miserable. Have you ever considered the possibility that the reason you've been so fixated on Malfoy this year, and since we were eleven really, was because you... like him?”

Harry stared blankly between their joined hands and her bracing expression. “What are you getting at?”

She flinched and drew in an audible breath, her cheeks rosy. “That maybe you... fancy Malfoy.”

He mouthed what she said one, twice, before it clicked, and he jumped like an electric bolt shocked him from the couch. He scanned the rest of the room for anyone that could hear, but it was late and mostly everyone had gone to bed. They were alone.

“How could you say that?”

Without conscious decision to do so, he started pacing in front of the fire, Hermione's eyes following him in concern. His brain kept stopping and starting. Blurry moments of kissing Ginny and Cho conflicted with the notion of **GAY** , because something like that had to be bold and capitalized. It was that mortifying.

“I can't be _bent_.”

He couldn't be.

“I've had girlfriends.”

He had, and it was only a matter of time before he picked things back up with Ginny. So what if he wasn't exactly that enthused about it, he was young and didn't want to be tied down just yet.

“I want the wife and the kids and the **normal**.”

Then the reason this whole conversation had him grinding to a halt. Draco. Draco smiling. Draco inclining his head just _so_ to read something that he didn't immediately understand. Draco laughing at one of Harry's bad jokes and telling him he was doing it out of pity.

“I can't.”

Then those weird things he felt but didn't want to think about were seen in a new light. The excitement, the nervousness, the way his palms would sweat as he raced to the library, the pleasant ache of his facial muscles from too much smiling, the little thrill that ran through him with every glance and accidental brush of fingers--

“Fuck!”

Hermione jumped as he stood stock still, his hands buried in his messy hair, his green eyes wild behind his glasses. Just as she moved to reach out to him, to do something, he spun around and glared at her.

“Why'd you have to say anything? I don't think of blokes that way!” _Except Draco._

“I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean-- I thought I was helping--”

“Well, news flash: You aren't,” he spat, the words cracking like a whip.

Hermione was usually right about everything, but he wasn't going to let her be right about this. “I have plans. My life is set because I decided it so. No, freak emotional... _spas_ is going to change that--”

“He likes you back.”

He froze.

“The only time I've seen him smile this year was while he was with you, and now he looks just as bad off. You can't stand there and tell me that there isn't something there.”

Orange flames danced within the perfect circles of his spectacles, obscuring his eyes. He lifted his head from looking down at the floor, and the fire was wiped away to reveal shining emerald eyes. “... I can't be with someone like him, Mione,” he stated as a tear streaked down his cheek.

At the heart-wrenching sight, Hermione's stern countenance crumpled. She stood and gathered her friend in her arms. Harry, after a few resisting seconds, went willingly, burying his face into her bushy hair. With some cajoling, he told her what happened and they talked well into the night.

Once Harry was feeling slightly better, Hermione eventually murmured, “You have to fix things between the two of you, at least. You won't feel better until you do.”

With a choking lump in his throat, he could only manage a nod.

**:::**

_Please meet me after dinner on the pitch._

The grass crunched under Draco's shoes as he moved at a sedate pace to the Quidditch pitch. It was all he could do to not run towards the black shapes of the goal hoops rising in the distance. The unsigned note he received confused him, thinking it was meant for someone else, but the parchment was saturated in a tormentingly familiar scent and he'd recognize that chicken scratch anywhere.

Pride had kept him away for a few days, but the Veela was eager to scamper back.

“Well, I'm here. What is it that you want?” he announced as snottily as he could, scanning the darkness for the Gryffindor. “Po--”

“You came.”

He spun around to be faced with dangling trainers. Potter hovered on his broom, staring down at Draco with a discomfiting mix of excitement and dread. Draco's sneer hid the anxiety that struck him because of it well.

“I was invited, wasn't I?”

“You were.” Potter's head bobbed and he cleared his throat. “You were.” He tipped forward and landed which could only be a good thing because muscled thighs hugging polished wood was entirely too distracting. “I haven't seen you in awhile, and I was just wondering, um, where you've been.”

“Around,” Draco supplied simply.

Potter wanted to know where he'd been; Potter _cared_. The corners of his mouth twitched, secretly pleased.

“The other day with Ginny--” And there went Draco's brightening mood. “I'm sorry about that. I've never seen her like that. I froze.”

“Well, it's only appropriate to defend your girlfriend against someone like me.”

Potter opened his mouth like he was about to deny it, but he closed it and nodded, and the small, ridiculous hope Draco felt withered.

“Is that all, because you could have written this in your note instead of having me come all the way out here.”

“Oh...” Potter's frown deepened. “I was hoping we could, er.” He presented a walnut-sized gold ball from his pocket. He muttered something and the snitch began to emit a soft glow. Their eyes met, and his frown flipped into a crooked grin as he raked a hand through his hair and shrugged. “What do you say, for old time's sake?”

_Potter's dating the She-Weasel._ That was all that mattered. Unbalanced, Draco only stared at the play of light on his mate's face.

Potter's grin lost some of its curve. “Unless you don't want to...”

“What are we doing here, Potter?”

The grin fell completely. “What do you mean?”

His confusion was so innocent, so halting that -with an aching chest and a need to please his mate- he shook his head and reluctantly smirked.

“Nothing. You're on.”

Relief and challenge replaced the puzzlement. The other boy jogged a few paces away where a broom was propped against the Ravenclaw stands. He came back, holding it out to Draco. “I wasn't sure if you would bring your own, so I already got out one of the school brooms.”

“Already giving yourself the advantage, I see.”

Rolling his eyes, he held out his own broom. “Take mine then, I'll still fly circles around you.”

Draco purposely took the inferior broom. “Release the snitch, Scar-head.”

He knew what Potter meant and years of resentment bubbled to the surface. Draco had never won against him, but this time he would prove himself the better seeker. His competitive nature rose above the simpering Veela instinct, because the very thought of his mate flying through the air at high speeds was horrifying.

They straddled their brooms and hunched into position facing each other. Holding open his palm, the snitch unfurled and rose several inches before zipping off. Even with the glow it vanished from sight. With matching nods, they were up right along after it.

Draco hadn't flown since fifth year, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it until now. The weightless feeling gliding over a world more beautiful and insignificant the higher he climbed. The single-minded pursuit of the snitch melted away in lieu of the wind beating his face and sliding icy fingers through his hair as he zoomed around the pitch, around a hovering Potter whose piercing gaze followed him. Thrilled to be showing off to his mate, he let out a whoop and rushed past him.

“If this is you flying circles, you're losing your touch!” he shouted over his shoulder. Immediately he could feel Potter on his tail, gaining speed and soon enough they were neck and neck.

The battle for the lead was a tug-of-war as each performed tricks and trading smug expressions. The Seeker's Game was easily forgotten. All those years competing against each other established a familiarity and an innate knowledge of the other's flying style, and they looped and dipped closely together as if sharing one mind. Aside from a few heart-stopping moments when his mate was being particularly daring, Draco could forget the deformity that poisoned his life and the fine fractures of his soul that grew the longer it went unanswered, and simply live in the moment and pretend.

Not for the first time during their dance among the stars, did he wonder if he did have wings and if it could even compare to this.

**:::**

Harry was lost in the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he didn't know which way was up or down. It was surprising how natural flying with Draco was and yet it still contained that electric charge.

He'd been unsure of inviting the blond to do this by way of apology since the memories they shared on the pitch were less than friendly but the less talking involved the better. His nails were bitten down to the quick since Hermione's unspeakable suggestions. He wasn't any more comfortable with the idea, but he could admit he missed Draco and he was happy he'd done this.

Perhaps almost too happy.

After awhile they slowed until they were just hovering high over the ground. Blasts of misty laughter fought against the need to regain control over their breathing. A giddiness hung between them, erasing the limbo he'd been living in the past few days.

Then Harry made the mistake of looking at Draco.

The moon had come out at some point, and he positively glowed with it. His mussed hair was a shining white. Flawless skin like porcelain was untouched by exertion when Harry's own face was probably red and his lips chapped. Draco's silver eyes sparkled at him as he smiled brilliantly. The combination was so otherworldly that Harry's breath caught.

“So much for that snitch,” Draco said with a breathlessness to his voice. When Harry didn't say anything but drifted closer and stared at him oddly, his smile eased a little. “What is it?”

Harry swallowed hard. They were floating side by side now, their thighs brushing. Draco was watching him through wide eyes as he leaned closer. He didn't know what he was doing; all he knew was a different rush of heat was consuming him under the cooling layer of sweat on his skin and he just wanted.

“Potter?” was asked uncertainly even though Draco was mimicking his movements. Their faces were inches apart -puffs of warm air mingling- and all it would take was that one final push. “... why?” Draco breathed, his pupils blown and eyes half-lidded.

“You're just so gorgeous,” Harry whispered and went to cross that small distance, but it had grown in an instant. He blinked, confused.

Draco had reared back and was looking at him as if he'd been stabbed. A glittering sheen filled his pained gaze. Trembling lips pulled into an agonized slash across his snow white face.

“What's wrong?” Harry moved to touch him, but the blond jerked and flew back. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--” He gestured between them, then slumped forward. “It was stupid.”

When Harry looked up again, he found himself alone. Draco was on the ground -the broom discarded- and tearing off towards the castle like the devil was on his heels.

The faintly glowing snitch came to flutter over Harry's shoulder.

For the next two weeks, Harry didn't see Draco; in fact, no one did. He didn't go to class nor meals, and according to the map, he had yet to leave the Slytherin dorms. Parkinson collected his work for him and had told Harry to mind his own business when he'd cornered her to ask after her friend. Even though the general consensus was the Malfoy heir had taken ill, Harry had the sinking feeling Draco's new-found alienation had everything to do with that night on the pitch and Harry's--

_Oh Dear Lord._ Harry had tried to kiss him.

Every time Harry thought about the humiliating incident, he'd either wince or smack a hand to his forehead and more times than not his lightening bolt scar was framed by faintly pink skin. He just hadn't been thinking. It was the euphoria of the flight and teenage hormones and-- and why did Draco have to look so starry-eyed and amazing that it short-circuited his brain and it only seemed logical to lean in and subsequently fuck everything up?

Harry couldn't be gay... but he wasn't very good at being straight either.

It was as if she'd sensed the shift and by Draco calling her Harry's girlfriend, it had given Ginny permission to reclaim that short, unremarkable role in his life. She was always hanging around or following him and asking him what he was thinking about and babbling about colors and shoes and -of all bloody things- feathers, all the while intent on snaring his hand or wiggling underneath his arm to situate herself there. Thank Merlin, Hermione was a persistent busybody or else he would have had to spend time alone with his self-proclaimed girlfriend and he just didn't have the energy -or to be more accurate, the stomach- for that.

Luckily today fell on the one day his schedule his afternoon classes ended early while the youngest Weasley was still stuck in Muggle Studies. He was grateful for this, because all he wanted was to be left alone. Ron and Hermione understood this, content to provide silent support, but Ginny wouldn't and he hoped to disappear for the night to just have his space. He planned to skip the Farefell Feast before the start of winter break, so that way he wouldn't have to explicitly say anything and risk hurting her feelings. Harry didn't want to be around her, and the one person he literally craved to see and whose company he would probably welcome was barricading himself in the dungeons, intent on avoiding him.

Trying to shake off this disheartening thought, he figured some laps around the pitch would keep him out of sight long enough for everyone else to go the Great Hall and for him to do as he liked without anyone trying cheer him up or get him to “talk.” So with this plan firmly in mind, he headed for Gryffindor tower to get his broom.

Big mistake.

As soon as he stepped through the portrait hole, his ears were assaulted with squealing and giggling and Celestina Warbeck's _You Stole My Cauldron, But You Can't Have My Heart_. His head tilted in inquiry when he realized the common room was full of sullen-looking boys and the noise pollution was spilling down the stairwell leading to the girls' dormitories. He had expected the room to be empty.

“What's going--”

“Please! You're being so unnatural right now. Parvarti will do your hair, and I'll do your make up.”

Hermione came flying down the stairs with an armful of books with Ginny hot on her heels, half her red hair in rollers as she kept a pink, ratty bathrobe wrapped around her skinny frame.

“Once again I appreciate the offer, Ginny, but no thanks.”

“But remember how pretty you looked at the Yule Ball for the Tri-Wizard Tournament? And that was you doing it by yourself! Think of it, we could make you look even more pretty.”

“No.”

“But--”

“No. I know how to dress myself, but until then I'd prefer to study away from that silly chaos upstairs,” Hermione said with finality as she plopped down at one of the side tables. The other girl watched this with hands on her hips and a tapping bunny slipper as Hermione arranged her books for all of three seconds before she turned away with a huff.

Harry regretted not taking cover because as soon as those fiery brown eyes saw him, he felt like a cornered mouse caught under the paw of a ferocious tiger.

“And you!” Ginny shrieked in a guttural tone, and all the boys jumped and sunk lower in their seats. She stalked over, and Harry's back hit the wall. “Why aren't you showered yet? It's almost three!”

“What-- how come you're not in class? What's going on?”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull. “What do you mean 'what's going on'?” she blustered. “Haven't you heard a word of what I've been saying for this past month?! The Ball! The Masquerade ball, the one we've been talking about.”

“We?”

“Yes, you even helped me decide the colors and if our masks would have feathers--”

“Gin, I really don't rem--” _Oh. Oh no._

A queasiness struck him. All those halfhearted agreements listened through one ear. He'd done it that day at breakfast when he had followed Draco outside; he could vaguely recall her mentioning it, and he must have--

“We agreed to go together!”

“Right!” Harry burst out with a laugh bordering on panicked. “Of course I remember. I was just--”

“Going to go shower,” she finished, appearing somewhat mollified. Then she looked around at all the other boys that quickly looked away. “As should **all** of you.”

Fearing her wrath, a stampede of groans and whinging thundered up the boys' stairs. Harry, feeling sick and in no mood to hear the merits of reserving at least three hours to prepare for any event, followed after his equally unenthusiastic comrades.

Once out of sight, he slumped against the wall with a sigh. “Just for a few hours, Harry.” He couldn't help but thinking tonight being surrounded by a sea of smiling faces wouldn't be so bad if he knew he was spending it with a certain someone else.

**:::**

“Why am I sitting here watching this, Pansy?” Draco grumbled from his pile of blankets as he huddled on top of said witch's bed. Pansy sat at her vanity crowded with bottles and tubes.

Her bright red lips hung open in a loose O as she dabbed at the tips of her eyelashes with mascara. “Thought I'd treat you to the experience of witnessing pure art coming to life.”

His bloodshot gray eyes rolled as he yawned. “I think I'll pass.” He made to get up but laziness and the warmth cocooned around him kept him there. Instead he shifted into a more comfortable position.

“The ball's tonight. What are you wearing?”

He leveled a baleful glare at her reflection. “You know as well as I do that I'm not going to any ball.”

“Well, I'm not so sure about _that_ ,” she rebutted, angling her head this way and that and pouting at herself. “There's this stunning blue number hanging in the closet some gorgeous blond wizard simply must wear.”

The word “gorgeous” stung -making him think of Potter- but the rest of her blandly said announcement shined above the rest. It wasn't unusual for them to give each other gifts but after catching her smirk and thick-lashed wink, he wriggled out from under his many goose-down layers and trudged over to her closet. It was mere curiosity; Draco could always appreciate fashion even though the only look he was suited for these days was a burlap sack secured over his head.

But damn, her taste was sublime.

Fitted midnight blue robes with brushed silver buttons ran from the collar and down over his left breast, even though it was obvious it was meant to hang open to his clavicle and silver silk was to be the layer beneath. Draco practically salivated over the attached cape that flowed like liquid mercury between his fingers. Draco wanted to live in the bloody thing.

“Well...?” came teasingly over his shoulder. “What do you think? It's perfect, I know.”

“It's...” He had to force his hand away from the soft fabric. “Impressive, but I'm still not going.”

“Enough of this, Draco! I've had it!” Pansy trilled, shattering his ear drums, and now it made sense how she managed to clear the room for herself on such a hectic night for girls. “You've been different and downright depressing, and I thought for a small while you snapped out of it and now you're just worse, so you are going to the masquerade tonight!”

He gaped, stunned. “That doesn't make a lick of sense.”

“Of course, it does,” she sniffed. “But you're a boy so it makes you automatically stupid and beyond your comprehension. Look, if you won't go for yourself and not this stunning outfit I spent a small fortune on, then do it for me because I'm in need of an escort.”

“Wait a moment, you're getting all painted for a ball you don't even have a date for? That's not like you.”

“Don't be ridiculous, I have a date. I do, so put that eyebrow down. I just need an escort **to** the dance. My date will be there.”

It all sounded a bit far-fetched. “Why doesn't he come to get you like a proper gentleman? The Pansy I know wouldn't stand for anything less.”

“Yes, I know I normally wouldn't, but I really like this guy even if he is a bit thick and I'm trying to be accommodating--”

“By making me do something I've said numerously I don't want to do?”

“Yes, **but** \--”

“Who is it?”

“Oh... no one you know,” she replied airily as she toyed with one of the ringlets framing her face. “This will be good for you, to get out and socialize, and what better way to do that then at the one social event of this school year, anonymously insulting our peers behind a pretty mask and looking fabulous while doing so?”

Her nails pinched the skirt of a blood red gown hanging beside his own robes and pulled it in front of her. She dipped into a curtsy wearing a wicked grin.

Draco cocked his head, rubbing his cheek speculatively. “... masks, you say?” A ghost of a smirk. “You do realize we'll look like the bloody muggle flag together.”

“Only as far as the main staircase. Wait, does this mean you'll go?” she asked excitedly with her hands poised to clap spastically like girls often do.

Trepidation slowed his nod, but the happy squeal of his best friend brought a small grin to his lips. She flung her arms around him and hugged him. He tensed under her touch since the last person he had come into real physical contact with had been his mother squeezing his hand in farewell at King's Cross. Thankfully the small brunette was quick to let go in favor of skipping back towards her vanity to check her hair and face since, “Human emotions can be so messy.”

“You do realize you're leaving me without a date,” Draco pointed out.

“Nonsense, I'm sure you'll look edible enough to find someone to dance with.”

“Yeah... no doubt.” The fact he was a social pariah notwithstanding. Draco reached for the hanger to his robes. He wondered if Potter was going and if the Weaselette would be on his arm.

_Of course, she will be_ , he added bitterly.

The Veela in his chest roared.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry felt like he'd been scrubbed, plucked, and polished, and he was quite sure most of his hair had been ripped from his scalp by the sheer amount of brushes and fingers that had run through it in effort to tame it. He hadn't seen himself in a mirror, but he supposed he looked alright when Ginny stopped picking at him and huffing.

Then again that ignorance was quickly rectified upon entering the Great Hall, although he hardly recognized it. He figured he looked okay in passing, but he was far too distracted with the charmed décor. Gone were the gray stone walls, replaced by gold fixtures, red velvet drapes, and large mirrors making the guests part of the scenery. The floors sparkled. Elaborate crystal chandeliers hung from a starry night. The four house tables had more small, round tables in their stead. It was all quite elegant and majestic, especially with the many colorful faces on parade. Harry could easily find himself drinking in the sights and sounds.

A sharp yank on his arm had him tripping after the small redhead into the crowd.

Or maybe not so much.

After the longest twenty minutes of his life -twenty minutes of bearing witness to Ginny and her friends gushing and fawning over each other's dresses and masks- Harry was disappointed to find no one had yet spiked the punch with firewhiskey. So now he was hiding out in one of the corners, sipping his drink and allowing his eyes to drift from one person to the next and guessing who was who. Some remained a mystery while others were painstakingly obvious, like Seamus dressed as a fool in an unflattering spandex outfit with a gold face and exaggerated nose, prancing about and tugging on the ballgowns he passed.

Another such example was floating his way in a gown of patchwork neon pink and green with glittery yellow wings fluttering on her back.

“Hiya Harry,” Luna greeted in her pleasant, airy way.

“Luna.” He smiled, a little more at ease in the presence of a friendly face, even if it was hidden behind a paper mache bunny mask. “I suppose I don't look much different since you recognized me right away.”

“No, not really, but you still look awfully dashing. Draco must be pleased.”

He almost lost his grip on his glass as a mouthful sloshed down his chin. “What?”

“I think Neville might ask me to dance, but wrackspurts must be attracted to him, because he keeps stopping and running away.”

“Luna, stop. What did you mean about Draco?” The lights seemed far too bright and his heart beating much too fast.

The soft grin she'd been wearing pulled into a frown. “Isn't he your mate?”

“My _date_? No!”

“Harry!” Hermione came hurrying towards him, though he wasn't exactly sure if it was her. The chartreuse dress showing off curves he didn't know she possessed paired with an elaborate peacock feather headpiece had him doubting. The bushy hair, the near trip in her heels, and her waving a crumpled sheet of parchment confirmed her identity.

“Harry, I found the -oh, hi Luna- I found the answer to the Mal-- to that thing you wanted.” She eyed Luna warily, but the spacey girl wasn't paying an ounce of attention, humming to herself and swaying with the couples on the dance floor.

Harry was staring at her uneasily for completely different reasons. “Mione, now's not really the time...”

“Trust me, you really want to know this--”

Small hands crept onto his shoulders like spiders. “Really want to know what?” Ginny's weight settled against him, pulling him to one side.

“Nothing,” Hermione answered smoothly. The look she shot between Ginny and Harry was one of disappointment.

“Oh, if that's the case then, Harry?” Ginny breathed into his ear and the side of his face pinched as his head angled away. “Could you please go fetch me something to drink?”

All he heard in that was “Escape,” so he nodded quickly and pulled away from her embrace. Just as he brushed past Hermione, the parchment was pushed into his hand and he hid the bulk of it against his dress robes. Once he was far enough away, he straightened it out in front of him and began to try and make sense of Hermione's tiny, long-winded notes.

“... a _Glamour?”_

That couldn't be right. Draco had no reason to wear a Glamour. Besides there was nothing different about his face. Weren't Glamours meant to disguise anyway? Draco didn't need magic to look the way he did.

Hermione's brains must be addled.

Shoving the misinformation away in his pocket, he went to get Ginny her punch and hopefully by now someone had dumped a flask of firewhiskey in it.

**:::**

“It looks splendid so stop messing with it,” Pansy hissed at him for the sixth time since leaving the dungeons.

“But it's completely on my face though, right?” he asked nervously, his fingers itching to readjust the mask covering the top half of his face.

“Yes, it is, so quit it!”

“But do I look all right?”

“And here I thought I was the vainest of them all. You look better than just 'all right.' You're hotter than sin. There. Is your ego sufficiently stroked?”

Draco sighed, his hand falling away. “Yes, thanks.”

His nerves were a frayed, sparking mess as him and Pansy climbed that last flight of stairs. The robes fit perfectly, so there was no doubt he looked divine as far as the neck down. (Although the evidence that Pansy somehow acquired his measurements was a tad unsettling.) It was from the neck _up_ that had his heart beating out of his chest and the slightest glance wanting to send him running. He'd been bold and decided to go without majority of the Glamour, leaving only his hair and the lower portion of his face protected by the magic; the rest was left up to the mask. With the doors in sight and colorfully dressed couples walking in, he was seriously regretting that decision.

“You know it's customary that when someone is gracious enough to pay you a compliment, you give them at least three in return,” Pansy grumbled at his side. The red feathers fanning out from her hand-held mask tickled his ear. He batted it away and apologized.

He stuttered to a halt, looking wildly around him. It wasn't the many burning glances being thrown his way, it was the faint scent still hanging in the air.

“Draco, you're squeezing the hell out of my arm.”

His long fingers released her like a steel trap springing open. “Forgive me,” he said in between sniffs. “Your date arrive yet?”

“He's coming this way now, so be nice.”

Forcing himself to hold his breath, he turned his head in the direction she was fighting to contain her smile towards. _Poor besotted woman._ He sneered. “You better go meet him yourself. I'm afraid I won't be able to keep my mouth shut, and I don't want you angry with me.”

“Are you sure?” she asked after already taking a step, clearly eager to get to her-- _does that even count as a date?_

“Definitely. Even though it's most likely the most expensive thing Weasley will ever wear, he looks like a sodding tomato. Honestly Pansy, dressing him in red with that god awful hair?”

She pulled away and dipped her chin, looking at him worriedly. “You're not mad? It was just ever since we were partnered up in class--”

“I'm not overjoyed about it if that's what you were expecting, but it's your knickers you're letting the Weasel into so it doesn't much matter to me.” He received a smack on the arm for that. “Hey! That's the reality. As long as you're happy and I don't have to interact with the buffoon, then I don't have much to complain about. Although... you can do much better.”

“I promise you most days I agree with you, but... he makes me smile. Thank you, darling. Stress only serves to give me wrinkles. Have fun and I'll see you later.” With a kiss to the air beside his cheek, she was gliding over to Weasley.

He watched them blush and smile before moving away, once again intent on the lingering trail of his mate. Seeing Potter every day had appeased his mating instincts, but weeks with nothing had unleashed a primal starvation and he wasted no time by making an entrance.

Though it wasn't grand to his standards, plenty of feathered and glittered heads turned his way. The old him would have strutted to the center of the room so his many admirers could flock around him and fight over his attention; now he kept close to the outskirts, observing. Two weeks of isolation and the sudden immersion into lights and sounds and watching eyes was off-putting to say the least. A few girls and even a boy -though it wasn't his Potter- had come to flirt and ask him to dance, but he only shook his head with a thin smile. He felt like a walking lie. A Trick to the eyes. The only thing keeping him from leaving was the promise of catching a glimpse of his mate.

Politely deflecting another hopeless suitor, a break in the crowd occurred and the smile on his face froze.

There he was.

Draco was moving off the wall and pushing dazedly through the laughing and chatting obstacles in his way. The world around paled in comparison to the center of his vision, his universe. He had to breathe deeply in order to sift through the motley of smells, but it didn't worry him as much having Potter firmly in his sights. Only a dance floor separated them. Draco scrunched up his nose, wondering if the Veela was mistaken. It didn't look like his Potter. The black dress robes with scruffy hair gelled down to his skull and a white phantom mask fixed over the side of his face. The fidgeting and bright green eyes were the only things to reassure him.

It all made sense when an overgrown cotton ball came bouncing into view and attached itself to Potter like a parasite. The She-Weasel was all in white. His stomach cramped a little at what the picture the pair created: A groom and his blushing bride perched gaudily on a wedding cake. Somehow he knew that was no coincidence. He wanted to tear out her copper hair and shred the many layers of chiffon that made her resemble an upside down cupcake.

She pulled him out into the dance floor. He snarled when the bint didn't even notice that his mate had almost fallen. He could have been hurt!

**:::**

Harry had once again found the punch sloshing in his mouth still non-alcoholic. He almost choked on it when he was nearly bowled over. The glass somersaulted in the air before vanishing, thanks to attentive house elves.

“I can not believe you haven't asked me to dance yet,” Ginny whined over her bare shoulder as she dragged him onto the dance floor. He'd barely regained his balance before his hands were forced onto hips and sharp nails bit into the back of his neck. Her front slammed against his and knocked the wind out of him. He struggled to follow her steps. It felt like the Yule Ball all over again.

Ginny would be smiling one minute and astoundingly somehow bitching about one of her friends who “had the audacity to wear white” knowing she would be, the next. Harry closed his eyes and tried to imagine this as his future, tried to imagine this life with her, this path expected of him. A surge of nausea frightened his eyes open. And considering what he saw, his knees almost buckled and he inadvertently held tighter to her just to stay upright.

By the white blonde hair alone Harry knew it was Draco. The sapphire blue of his robes set off his pale skin in an ethereal way. It was stupefying to see him now; he'd been hoping but he didn't actually believe--

“Harry, what do you think?”

“Yeah, sure.” He tilted his head to peer over her other shoulder as she bobbed and turned them about. Draco was just standing there, watching.

“I want to spin.”

He was already twisting her away from him -wrists grinding- as he spun them both and he was craning his neck to look behind him to keep the blond in sight, but he was gone. Filled with a sudden anxiety, his head was whipping side to side and all around him in search. They landed on a silver and navy clad chest.

“May I cut in?” Draco stooped into a polite bow, smiling and his eyes sparkling through a bejeweled silver mask.

A bit hypnotized, Harry found himself nodding. He was letting go of the too curvy hips in his palms, but Ginny held tight.

“I'm happy where I am, thank you,” she answered sweetly.

The edges of Draco's smile sharpened into knives. “I wasn't talking to you.” Then he turned to Harry, dismissing the gawping redhead. His face softened again. “Shall we?”

At that moment, Harry wasn't too concerned with gender, straight or gay, or who was watching and what they would think. He pried Ginny off of him and stepped towards the smirking blond.

“Harry, what are you doing?! He's a boy!” The disgust.

He shrugged, gazing at Draco. “So?”

“But you're **my** boyfriend!”

“I'm not, and if you thought I was, I'm sorry for not being straightforward with you.”

“But--”

Draco stepped in front of him and blocked her from view. “Mine,” was stated like silk over steel. Then before he knew it, Harry was swept away. The dangerous tone didn't match the warm smile that was flashed at him as his hand fell on a broad shoulder and the other clasped a soft hand. He jumped when a firm pressure landed on his waist.

“Don't worry, I remember the disaster that was the Yule Ball. We'll start simple: Step to the side -together- back- together- side -together- forward, and again. Just a basic waltz. You ready?”

Repeating the directions in his head, Harry nodded uneasily. There was stumbling and a few stepped on toes, but he thought he was getting the hang of it after a while. With that small confidence, the haze wore off enough and the physical reminder of the loneliness he had experienced for the past couple weeks had his eyes narrowing.

“What happened to you that night on the pitch?”

Draco's smile dimmed a few watts. “We're going to get daring now and twirl.” That was the only warning before the world was streaking past in a smear of color and he was tripping back into the rhythm of their waltz. “Brilliant. See, all you needed was the right partner.”

“Was it because I tried to kiss you?”

“Do you want to spin me now?”

“Draco, answer me, please.”

The blond missed a step. It must have been the vision correction charm in place of his glasses, because it looked like for a second there that the bottom half of Draco's face _changed_. It had to be a trick of the lights, but it bothered him.

“You called me Draco.”

Harry could feel the already humid skin under his half-mask run hot. “Well, we are... something, aren't we?”

_Nice, Harry. You idiot._

Draco's smirk made his gut do an odd swoop. “You're thinking too much, just...” Warm breath caressed his ear, raising fine hairs. “Abandon thought and let us enjoy this, Harry.” He drew back on a deep inhale, and Harry watched him go with heavy-lidded eyes.

Slowly their chests came together, then their stomachs, the buttons of their robes catching and rubbing. Their dance had lost its formality and was reduced to a shuffle. The all strings quartet and the chatter around them faded into the background. Faded into the rightness of this. Harry feared to blink, afraid the surreality would collapse on itself and Draco would be gone again. Emerald drank in shining gray surrounded by twinkling crystals and swirls of ivory.

_This can't be normal_ , he thought. The simple holding of hands shouldn't feel so good. So intoxicating. Their groins brushed, and Harry almost bit clean through his lip. A low growl sounded in reply, and the brush became a hard press. His eyes clamped shut, dizzy.

The petal pink of Draco's lips were moving with soundless words, opening and closing, while perfect teeth bit them back, seemingly warring with himself. The steady warmth of his gaze was slowly overshadowed by stormy indecision. Harry would give his entire Gringotts vault to know what the other boy was thinking at that exact moment. Was he sharing the same fears as Harry was? He was shaking, holding Harry so tight that it hurt.

The mood changed, Harry could taste it.

He couldn't bear the worry and desperation building before him, afraid if he looked upon it a second longer, this odd dream he found himself in would dissolve and Draco would run off again. Harry tried to think and let the other boy lead him through the dance.

To have someone who needed and wanted him just because he was Harry and not the hero would be pure heaven, and it was terrifying to realize that the possibility was so within reach. He tried to imagine a future with Draco, a life with him, a path most would despise him for. He couldn't see it, but he wanted to. He wanted to find out.

Or maybe he was wrong, maybe this was a weird fling or something not even close. That emotional spasm he'd claimed to Hermione.

“Harry--” And just the sound of his name coming from the Slytherin was enough to startle him back to the colorful chaos they were surrounded by. “About that -fuck, I don't know why I'm doing this- about that night on the pitch? Well, long before that really...”

“Yes...?” he replied with uncertainty. He desperately needed to know he wasn't alone in this... whatever they had brewing between them, yet at the same time he didn't want warm, unspoken secrets revealed behind a mask.

“Things have-- have changed. I've changed.”

He thought back to the information Hermione gave him festering in his pocket. Curiosity was an insidious thing. He had to know.

Draco's glaring at the floor peered up at him, wide and lost. “Perhaps we should go somewhere more private to talk about this?”

Most of the other dancers had stopped and were watching them now, but they only had eyes for each other. Draco was gripping him close, and his trembling lips were inches from touching his own. Harry wanted to, was ready -even with the jumbled nonsense Draco was saying- but something was off and he had to be sure. His hand slipped from its hold on Draco's shoulder.

“Fuck it, Harry, what do you know about vee--”

“ _Finite_ ,” he whispered against the seam of Draco's lips and pulled the mask away.

Time stopped as gasps and screams rang out. A violin snagged on a sharp note. And Harry... Harry wasn't capable of sound as he staggered a step back with the silver mask still clutched in his hand, gaping at the sight uncovered. His eyes could not focus on one thing alone: The long, pointed nose like an eagle's beak; a patch of red, roughened skin like burns stretched into hair the color of old dishwater; a sagging pink eyelid connecting to a cheek that could have been made of wax and a flame had been held against it; and the split, drooping lip.

Pure shock was the only thing keeping him standing.

That couldn't be Draco. Not the gorgeous, moonlit boy he'd come to know.

He stared into horrified gray eyes. Those... Those were Draco, and Harry could almost breathe again, despite his astonishment.

**:::**

For the first few seconds, it didn't compute what had just occurred. He'd been compelled by the Veela to be forthright with his mate while his human side reluctantly agreed but struggled with the execution. Potter was there in his arms and it felt so right and then... the worst thing one could have said to him.

“ _Finite”_ still tingled where it was breathed against his lips.

Then there was cool air on previously masked skin. He'd been so blindsided that his concentration slipped, and he could feel the Glamour shed away like dry, peeling skin.

Draco was paralyzed. The face of his mate he dreamed of for months morphed into his nightmare -the surprise, the utter disgust- and the cavern in his chest was being shredded by diamond-tipped talons as if the Veela were scrambling to free itself.

Harry was looking at him, and it was horrible.

And it was too late to take it back.

Trying to smother the worst of it with his hand, he made the crippling mistake of looking around him: Carnivalesque faces were warped in horror and revulsion, gawking at him, their eyes boring into him like serrated blades and sawing away strips of hideous flesh. Pansy was amongst them, aghast. And there was him staring back, too. Thanks to the many mirrors, his face was multiplied and reflected back at him, taunting and tormenting.

He couldn't move. Everyone was seeing.

“Harry!” The ginger bitch in white came clomping over in her heels. She looked at Draco like he was a wild abomination escaped from its cage.

And he was, wasn't he?

“Get away from it!” she shrieked, grabbing onto his mate's arm and pulling. The mask clattered from Harry's hand as he stumbled, and then Draco saw red.

**:::**

“Ginny, stop,” Harry demanded still in a bit of daze but resisting her. “Ginny!”

Just then an ear-splitting screech tore through the Great Hall and shattered some of the mirrors. He whipped around -breaking from her grip- and froze.

A crazed bird-like creature was standing where Draco had been, but when he looked closer the face was caught between that of a hawk's and his disfigurement. The midnight blue robes were ripped in some places, and the most worrying thing was the wisps of red and orange sparking in his open palms, framed by curled, deadly talons.

The hall erupted into chaos. There was screaming and pushing and trampling feet but a wide berth had been made for the cause of the mayhem along with Harry and Ginny, who was insistent. The professors were trying to fight their way through but were so far unsuccessful.

“Harry, we need to go!”

Another screech and the fire balls hovering in Draco's hands were the size of quaffles. Harry recognized this. The World Cup. Veelas. One ball reared back, prepared to be thrown. Pupil-slitted silver eyes twice their normal size were focused on Ginny. Harry snapped out of his daze and jumped in front of her. The Veela stopped short with a squawk. Harry stood firm with his arms spread out, blocking Ginny. Its head twitched between them as its beak clacked.

After several tense seconds some conclusion had been made and a deafening wail burst from the creature's mouth. The flames shrunk away into trembling palms. With a watery look at Harry, it was streaking from the room, unmindful of the fleeing witnesses that dove out of its way.

An understanding clicked in Harry's head. Something frightening and wonderful.

Without a thought, he went to go chase after but was stopped by a stubborn weight.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ginny cried, white as the dress swallowing her quaking frame.

“I have to go after him.”

“That thing is an ugly beast that almost killed us!”

“But he didn't.”

“Why, Harry?!”

“I--” His set expression broke into a surprised grin. “I love him,” he told her and tore away.

_I'm absolutely mad._ He dodged and sprinted past people towards the scorched double doors. _Mad about Draco fucking Malfoy._

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Harry's list of places to search wasn't all that long, and he preyed he wouldn't need the map to find Draco, because he couldn't risk running up to Gryffindor tower and be held back by one of his friends. All he could depend on was the shaky confidence he had in knowing Draco, so the dungeons and anywhere people could possibly be was out. He had to think: where would be deserted on a night like this? The pitch, too cold and out in the open; the Astronomy tower would be crawling with amorous couples and Harry doubted Draco would go there for any reason; the Room of Requirement was dead; the-- no, he wouldn't-- but then again it couldn't hurt to look...

The library was dark and closed when he slipped inside. He squinted and felt his way for a full minute before remembering through the rush that he was a wizard. The bright glow of his wand tip lit the way as he maneuvered the familiar path to their secluded spot. The closer he came, the more nervous he felt. What if Draco wasn't there? _Oh god_ , what is he was? He didn't know what he'd do.

His stomach curdled as he realized he was one more turn away. He paused to gather some of that infamous Gryffindor courage before forging ahead.

“What are you doing here?”

He jumped and pointed his wand in the direction of that low, dangerous tone. The light didn't reach far enough to illuminate the solid shadow hunched over in the corner.

“How do you do that?” he snapped, heart in his throat. “You always know I'm coming before I even do anything.”

“I smelt you,” Draco replied simply with an arrogant tick in his voice. “And it's pitch dark in here and the light isn't exactly subtle. Anyone could see it; I'm not that big of a freak.”

“You're not a freak.”

“Not a freak?” He moved so fast, and a cool hand snatched Harry's wrist and forced the light to paint his face in stark detail. “This doesn't look like a freak to you? How about mutant or monster, do those suit better?”

Harry accidentally cringed in reflex, and his wrist was thrown back.

“See you can't even look at me. Why did you do that, Potter?”

“I was Harry before.”

“Why?!” Draco roared.

“I- I don't know. I just-- wanted to see--”

“Oh, and are you happy now?”

Frustrated, Harry pointed the light down because he needed to remember that it was Draco he was talking to, that it still sounded like him. “No, I--”

“Unmasked the hideous beast for all to see.”

“I thought Hermione was bonkers to think that weird rash thing was because of a Glamour, but the funny feeling wouldn't go away so I had to make sure. I just didn't think that--”

“What, it wouldn't be this bad? Well, it is, and there isn't much to be done about it. You think I haven't tried everything? I've tried Polyjuice, beauty elixirs, tonics, everything but that horrid muggle surgery with plas-tick, whatever that is. None of it worked. I'm always _this_!”

“Why is it--- like that?” He remembered the Veelas at the World Cup as breathtaking.

“Evidently, male veela are meant to work a touch harder than their female counterpart who only have to flip their hair, jiggle their tits, and spread their legs, and _ta-da_ they're mated. We lose a bit more than looks and allure. Since we're not the carriers in the pregnancy, it has to be a deeper, more pure connection in order for the... _b_ _ond_ to be up to standard.”

“So, then what did you mean there's nothing to be done? It sounds like you only have to mate,” Harry said with a succinctness he didn't feel as he placed his wand on the work table, shifting the shadows. The fact that Draco didn't reply to that worsened his nerves. “... it's kinda crazy I found you here, huh?”

Draco shrugged. “I came because my life had been ruined and in the mind of a fire-lobbing fowl, it made sense to come to the one place that smells like your m-- that ensures you're alone. It still doesn't explain why you're here.”

Harry produced a crinkled smile. “Well, I am your mate, aren't I?”

Draco's shoulders drew in sharply, and all the air might as well have been sucked out of the space.

He wasn't sure if it would be one of those times he should keep his mouth shut, but he was going to say it anyway. “Is that why you've been avoiding me, because I said you were good looking?”

“Gorgeous,” the blond corrected bitterly, “You said I looked gorgeous, and, no, that's only part of it.”

“Then what's the rest?”

“It's because I'm not, alright? My own mother can hardly look at me, and I can't blame her. I'm grotesque. You only considered coming near me was because I looked right, like myself, like _this_.” His pale, Glamoured face flashed in the light before it disintegrated back.

“Wow...” Harry murmured, his dark brows arching towards his hairline. “That's incredibly... wrong. I can't believe you think I'm that shallow.

“I followed you to the Room of Requirement, because of our history. I blew up at you at the lake, because you piss me off. I first approached you here, because you interest me. I kept coming back, because you make me laugh. I may have said you were gorgeous, but I tried to kiss you twice - _twice_ now- because you make me fucking happy. I chased your bratty arse here now, because I like you; I may even be insane enough to love you. There, does anywhere in that mention the way you look?”

Instead of getting through to Draco like he'd hoped, his back remained to him and his face was turned away from the light.

“... don't you have a venereal disease with red hair to go shag?”

If not for the globs of gel cementing his hair to his skull, he would have ripped it out. “Good Godric, were you not listening when I told her **to her face** that she wasn't my girlfriend? She's just a friend. I just basically said that I love you, and all you can focus on is her!”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“What _actions_?”

Draco was up and towering over him. “You protected her! I transformed into a damn monster, because she was treating you like a bloody rag doll and you stepped in the way and protected her!”

“Because you were about to burn her to a crisp!”

“So?!”

Harry stared into the Veela's mangled face contorted in anger, and his own evaporated. An unstoppable grin slowly replaced his scowl.

“Why are you smiling?!” Draco snarled.

A burst of laughter left him. “I just can't believe I'm here arguing with you over this.” He reached over to his wand. “ _Lumos Maxima_.” And for good measure he aimed a _Scourgify_ at his hair, and he felt the magic tingle over his scalp, leaving him looking like a hedgehog caught in a cross wind.

Strong light hung over them and erased the shadows from a black to a muted cerulean. Draco's eyes were wide and like crystals as he remembered through his temper his face was exposed to harsh, unforgiving illumination. He moved to turn away and reapply the Glamour, but a steel grip thwarted him.

“Let me look.”

Head ducked and whipping every which way, Draco fought the hands reeling him in, but Harry was relentless and kept pulling and tugging until Draco was a statue with his chin tucked towards his chest.

“Come on, _please_ ,” he urged. He cradled the Veela's face -ignoring the tough, pock-marked texture- and lifted. A tear plummeted between them before Draco gave in. Harry balked, and Draco began to struggle all over again. “Stop-- **stop** ,” and he stilled, staring at Harry like a trapped animal.

Green eyes carefully examined one feature then the next. It was hard to reconcile the handsome face with this, but underneath he could still see the blond prat he admired and he could breathe a little easier because of it.

Determined, he started to lean in.

Draco drew in sharp breath. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering Harry nervously licked his lips and kept coming, making sure to keep his eyes open. A pause, and then he was kissing him. Draco's lips were tight and unresponsive until his resolve broke, and a relieved whimper escaped Harry as Draco's mouth pushed back tentatively against his own.

Their heads tilted in opposite directions, deepening the kiss. Harry's eyes fluttered closed as his hands slid into Draco's oily blonde hair and tugged. He could feel the moment the restraint in the Veela broke before hands seized his hips in a vice and a slick tongue stabbed between his lips. He responded with a deep moan, eager to open his mouth and be taken. He'd wondered from the privacy of his bed to the middle of walking to class what it'd be like to kiss Draco, and the worries of warm and soggy like past experience couldn't compare to the reality. Even though his large nose was digging into Harry's cheek, Harry's blood surged through his veins as he bit and sucked at Draco's drooping bottom lip. He didn't think he could stop. He was instantly addicted.

But he had to when he felt the body against his jolt. He pulled back panting and unable to tear his eyes from Draco's red and swollen lips. The ugliness of Draco's face didn't even faze him at this point. “Are you--” he tried saying, but his mouth was smothered again and tongues resumed their battle for dominance, and he forgot all about it.

That was until the next jolt and a pained groan tunneled into his mouth. This time he was determined to ask what was wrong, but Draco held intently to him as shivers wracked his being. Draco's name came out muffled by the other's frantic kissing. Without warning the Veela's mouth tore away with a wet smack and he doubled over, one hand clutched to his face and the other clawing at the blue material pulled taut over his back.

Harry stood transfixed as, with a shrill cry, Draco bowed backwards and a blinding light burst from him and subsequently consumed him. Harry had to look away. It lasted only seconds before it vanished, leaving only the strong _lumos_ and making the room look dark by comparison. Blinking rapidly and rubbing his eyes, he turned back, scared beyond belief for Draco, but the sight presented through his stained retinas sent him staggering.

All the moisture disappeared from his mouth. “Dra- Draco?”

All he saw was a rising and falling mass of glowing white feathers until it shifted, separating and unfurling into wings. Large wings that brushed the ground and arched over a halo of platinum hair. Then he was staring into molten silver eyes that flashed like a predator's. The angelic face of flawless porcelain skin was void of the distasteful features that had been there only a moment ago. Rosebud lips broke into a soundless snarl that started deep in his elegant throat and grew into a fierce roar.

The next part happened like a whirlwind. Harry's muscles arrested as the Veela sprung to his feet in one smooth motion and charged. He caught a glimpse of tattered cloth hanging from a chiseled chest before unnaturally strong arms gathered him close. Hands roamed over his body with no clear destination as an aristocratic nose ran along his jaw and neck, sniffing and huffing.

“You fucking **reek** of her,” a vaguely recognizable voice hissed harshly into his ear.

That was all the warning he had before the front of his robes were fisted and yanked open. The buttons that flew hadn't even hit the floor before the Veela was rubbing and rutting against him like a cat erasing the smell of another. Harry's belt was tugged from their loops and the fastenings of his trousers were coming undone in swift succession. When cool air hit the tops of his thighs, he awoke from his stupor.

“Draco, wait,” he ordered, out of breath as if he'd run a mile instead of just standing there. “ **Wait** ,” he said again when his trousers were drawn down his legs.

Immediately the Veela kneeling before him reaching for the waistband of his pants stilled. Beseeching silver eyes gazed up at him. Wings twitching, animalistic need painted his beautiful face several shades of tortured. Draco rocked back and forth, keening.

Harry just needed a moment to catch his breath, the whiplash of events still very much present, but understanding struck him. This was Draco's true nature after being suppressed for however long reasserting itself in a surge of want and instinct. He wasn't even sure if Draco was all that human at the moment. And that thought should not make his cock harden more as it tented the thin material of his pants, straining towards the Veela.

It was one of those times thinking could be detrimental.

Draco's wordless begging adopted a more desperate timbre, and Harry couldn't help but give in. He wasn't sure what exactly he was getting himself into -he had an idea- but he'd been wanting this for far longer than when he first started spending time with Draco if he were honest.

Silver eyes lit up. Fingers rushed to pull down that final obstacle. A blush blossomed across Harry's face at the lustful scrutiny being paid to his privates, but it almost boiled clean off as a nose dove into the dark thatch of hair at the base of his dick and inhaled deeply. A delighted murmur came from the blond. Harry avoided looking -embarrassed and totally inexperienced- but his eyes flew down like helpless bits of metal against a powerful magnet once he felt the first wet touch. His pupils expanded until thin rings of spring green surrounded them. They tracked the series of kittenish licks and grazing sucks traveling up and down his length. He shuddered, as a drop of precome swelling at the tip was eagerly lapped up. Gentle kisses landed on the flushed head of his cock, soft lips spreading wider and wider until they wrapped firmly around it. After a few gasping seconds of a wriggling tongue digging into the weeping slit, Draco's mouth slid slowly down.

Harry's brain was on the brink of imploding as his legs struggled against turning to jelly. He choked on his next breath when the first hard suck came, and the hands locked politely at his sides scrambled to grab hold of _something_.

Eyes closed, Draco's expression was one of exquisite bliss as Harry's hands sunk into his hair -fingers tangling in silky strands that glittered like diamonds woven in- and pulled. The prat started to bloody purr as his head bobbed at a vicious pace and the hot, wet cavern of his mouth sucked at him happily. Harry's hips involuntarily bucked forward, pushing himself further inside. Just as the tip of his prick struck the back of the Veela's throat, he was coming.

Draco continued to work and swallow him down greedily, his purring loud and sending vibrations all the way to Harry's teeth. Brain fuzzy but still able to register _too, too much_ , he nudged the Veela off. The blond eventually pulled back, sucking him until his softened cock fell from those Cheshire-curved lips.

Harry swayed on his feet, feeling warmly satisfied with his pants around his ankles and the collar button of his robes the only thing keeping them hanging off him like a super hero's cape. He smiled goofily at the Veela now standing before him. Draco's lips quirked into a smirk as blown pupils stared at him hungrily.

Harry's lazy grin broke into a surprised yelp as he was lifted into the air and deposited onto the table. The cloths dangling stubbornly off his feet were ripped away, and his shoes and socks were disposed of. His splayed legs were forced unceremoniously further apart. Draco instantly ducked out of sight wearing a wolfish grin. Harry tried to sit up and look after him, but the sudden lick to one of his arse cheeks sent him flying back with a high-pitched yip.

His skinny thighs slapped together. “What are you doing?!”

A single growl rumbled in reply, and his knees were pushed roughly to his chest. Contrary to the forceful movements, the following licks were gentle against the stretch of skin behind his balls and upwards, nuzzling them and drawing them into his mouth. Harry's spent cock pinned against his lower abdomen twitched. His balled hands were lead weights against the table. As sucking kisses drifted lower and lower until they printed a sloppy circle of saliva around the furled skin of his hole, his entire body locked.

He'd explored down there by himself in the shower only a handful of times using a finger or two, but he always felt stupid and would stop, instead continuing his wanking the normal way. But what Draco was doing with his mouth? That... Harry didn't know you could do _that_.

Or that it'd feel so -a scalding tongue dragged over his entrance- so fucking _good_.

Humid breath puffed against his crack. Draco's tongue traced the fine wrinkles around his hole before circling one, twice, and more times that Harry lost count, before delving in. The wet, wiggling penetration sent a shock through his system. Before he knew it he was struggling for air, his face and heaving chest a flushed pink, his hands having found purpose grabbing the backs of his knees and holding his spread legs open for Draco to bury his face between his arse cheeks, sucking and licking into him. At one point he strained to lift his head in order to look down his body. With a gulped curse, his head fell back against the wood of the desk with a thunk.

With the luminous wings and platinum head, it looked like he was being tongue-fucked by an angel.

He moaned and tried to push back onto Draco's tongue. A finger slid in alongside his dipping and swirling tongue. One quickly became two, and Harry avoided thinking about how he was riding those long digits like a whore. Only when the third pushed in did his rocking hips stutter. It felt like too much, and he twisted instinctively in effort to get away, but then Draco's fingers crooked in just the right way and Harry saw stars burst across his vision.

“Fuck was that?” he panted as soon as the paralyzing wave of pleasure dissipated with the retreat of fingers intent on stretching and scissoring. He squirmed in anticipation each time they came remotely close to that amazing spot inside of him. He was hard and leaking and babbling nonsense. Whimpers of loss and annoyance burbled from his rapidly moving lips when the fingers were removed.

There was shuffling and ripping and the sound of spitting before Harry felt the blunt tip of something much larger than just a few fingers rub enticingly against his entrance. He almost swallowed his tongue at the desire and love aimed at him from pupil-consumed black eyes. Terrified, he jerked a nod and winced at the following pressure.

He was going to do this; he was actually going to do this.

Rid of the shredded robes, Draco bent over and smoothed his hands up Harry's sides, pressing feather-light kisses all over his face. A soothing trill came from between his lips that put the Gryffindor slightly at ease. Even though he was acting more animal than man, Draco wouldn't intentionally hurt him, and Harry found that reassurance particularly amusing considering this was Draco Malfoy they were talking about here.

The Veela's tongue licked at the seam of his clamped lips until Harry was drawn out into the intoxicating pleasure of Draco's mouth. When the pressure against his hole skyrocketed and released in one swift plunge, his eyes screwed shut and he focused on stealing the earthy flavor of himself from the other boy's tongue. The cock inside him burned and it bloody hurt, and that's all that was registering in his brain. He grunted when Draco drew back then slid in. He could feel every inch filling him up, stretching him open more.

He couldn't do this. It hurt too--

Draco's hips had angled during his experimental, shallow thrusts and he grazed that spot inside Harry that had his spine bowing and his rim squeezing Draco's cock in a vice. A growl tore through clenched teeth as the blond's lean body fought to remain still for his mate. Harry's arms and legs wrapped tightly around the Veela hunched over him. He had to force himself to relax, and eventually the burn faded into something manageable and he was awed by the fact that it started to feel good.

And fucking fantastic when Draco hit that spot.

He moaned and writhed beneath the Veela, trying to get more, harder, anything.

“Draco, just-- just fuck me already!”

It could have been the best or the worst thing he could have said. Shaking from holding himself back, Draco slammed in hard -giving Harry what he wanted- but at the same time his full girth was introduced upon bottoming out inside of Harry, knocking the wind out of him. From there the Veela fell into a vicious pace. His hips snapping over and over into Harry, his sack pat-pat-patting against his backside. Harry's heels dug into the dip of his lover's lower back, his thumbs digging into the v-cut of his pelvis and his hands squeezing and yanking, urging him on. Not that the Veela needed any help, his cock ramming his prostate more times than not.

Snarled proclamations of “Mine, mine” punctuated each slick slide into Harry's loose and needy hole. Straight teeth dragged over Harry's jaw and down his bared throat -lips pausing to suck the jumping Adam's apple as Harry gulped for air- and continued across the ridge of his collarbone before biting harshly into the flesh protecting Harry's heart.

“ **Mine**.”

Harry's eyes flew open as his rolling hips became frantic, seeking more friction for his aching prick against Draco's flexing abs. The Veela furiously bit and lapped at whatever his mouth could reach, leaving behind angry red and purple bruises that pulsed straight to the building heat in Harry's gut.

“Mine,” Draco growled again, fucking with single-minded intent into Harry, their stomachs slippery and his wings tensed and drawn high over his head.

“Yours,” Harry whined in return before a shout punched from deep in his core as his climax rushed through him, painting his stomach and chest with white ropes of spunk.

The strong muscles of his hole contracted, and four hard thrusts later hot come was flooding his tight channel and a roar that arced in pitch like a falcon but curdled at the end like a mountain lion burst from Draco's blood-slick lips.

Harry weakly touched his fingers to the burning mark over his heart, and they came away red. Mentally shrugging, he wiped them off on the table and the corner of his mouth lifted fondly at the sweaty, blonde head resting against his shoulder. He reached out and brushed his stained fingers along the curve of downy soft features. The wings drooping around them rippled and the body pinning him shivered.

“Good thing you didn't do that during, or I wouldn't have lasted nearly as long,” came Draco's tired, muffled voice.

Harry perked up. “You're you again.”

“Yeah,” Draco answered with a grunt. He gingerly lifted himself up, and if he was suffocating Harry, Harry hadn't noticed. “I remembered I was civilized halfway through the whole climax malarkey--- shit, are you all right?” he asked, panicked, having caught sight of vivid teeth marks and blood. “I didn't--” He cringed, his shifting causing him to slip stickily out of Harry. “--hurt you, did I? I didn't mean—the Veela—it has needs, claiming.” The fading blush of exertion bloomed anew.

“I'm fine. Really. I-- I enjoyed it--- a lot,” Harry added, acutely feeling his come drying on his skin. Now that the sweat was cooling, an uneasiness was settling over and reality was kicking in. “... did you?”

“Of course, I did. Are you sure you did?” Gray eyes peered at the marks through his lashes. They flickered to a hand hastily wiping away the tacky semen clinging to a flat stomach.

“Well, not a lot of people can say that they lost their virginity by getting buggered by a rabid veela across a desk in the library,” he joked in a shaky tone. And he had been, they had started on the edge of the table and ended near the middle.

All the blood had drained from Draco's face. “You-- you're a virgin?”

“Well, _was_ ,” Harry corrected with a crooked grin, scratching the side of his neck. _Awkward._ “But it's okay.” _More than okay._

“But I did _that_ to you, didn't even give you much of a choice.” Horror and nausea carved thick lines around Draco's eyes and mouth.

The after glow was extinguished, plunged into a muddy puddle. Harry scrambled to fix this. “I did! I did have a choice. For granted, this--” He gestured between their naked bodies, tearing his eyes away when they lingered a little too long. “--wasn't my intention when I followed you here, but trust me when I say I'm not about to argue with the results. Unless... you didn't want to, with me...”

“The Veela wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't want to... deep down.”

Harry released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

“I think...” the blond started, cautiously moving his wings, “That I have to reconcile with the fact that the Veela and I are now one in the same. I just wanted it to happen differently. I mean, how could you stomach it while having this hovering over you?” he asked with a note of loathing as he pointed at his handsome face.

Harry stilled him with his clean hand on his arm, repressing a smile but could do nothing about the flush to his cheeks. “Trust me, it was no hardship.”

“What are you, blind? … then again you did date the She-Weasel--” His face went white all over again. “Oh sweet Merlin, everyone saw me. I'm fucked! I'm ruined!”

“Draco, you're not.” Twisting around, he found his wand teetering on the edge of the table and conjured a mirror. The Veela instantly shied away from it. “You may have to answer McGonagall for the whole bird freak out, but look.” He grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him, minding the wings that could potentially smack him in the face. “Look.”

With a pained reluctance, Draco lifted his head and froze.

“I think everyone will forget in light of this, wouldn't you say?”

Draco's face was slack with surprise as he drew closer to his reflection, fingers tracing his cheek, his jaw, nose, brow, lips. “Can't be,” he breathed, fogging the mirror's surface. His palm gently swiped it away, hypnotized by the gorgeous creature staring back at him, afraid to look away in case it was a cruel illusion and the ugly beast would be there waiting. But look away he did, matching gazes with the smiling, green-eyed boy.

“You kissed me before I was this, when I was--”

Harry shrugged. “It doesn't matter to me. You're still you.”

“And I think that's what I'm having trouble understanding.”

“Well, there was something there that wasn't there before, and I-- … care about you in that way I said earlier.”

Draco's kiss-swollen lips curled. “You said you love me... I mean, you'd have to to allow me to fuck you senseless in the...” He squinted at one of the bookshelves. “The Spores and Fungi section.”

Pinkness spread from the tips of his ears down to the peak of his nipples. His limbs pulled in and he sat in a self-conscious huddle. His arse twinged.

Wearing a smirk, Draco bumped shoulders with him. “You know you aren't the only one that's fallen to their doom here. And in any case, we're more or less stuck with each other for the rest of our lives.” His eyes were shining with trepidation and looking at Harry as if waiting for rejection.

A happy smile blossomed on Harry's face. Bumping back, he replied, “That's good considering I don't do one-offs with just any magical creatures.”

“A strong quarter!” Draco asserted with an obstinate finger and jut of his chin. “Veelas are the only proper creature to mix with pure blood.”

_The rest of our lives_ , Harry reiterated in his mind as he was reminded certain things would probably never change. _And I couldn't be happier for it._

“But what will our friends say? Oh god, Ron!” Harry groaned, hiding his face in his hands. His nose scrunched and he cursed, realizing one was sticky with the come he had wiped off earlier.

“I'm sure it'll be fine. I have it on good authority that the Weasel has gotten over his aversion to snakes,” Draco reassured with a private smirk. “And if he hasn't, I know a feisty, little witch that'll put him in line.”

“How do you mean?”

His blond head shook. “Never mind...” He leaned over and dragged his tongue up Harry's cheek stamped with come, grinning when he felt the other boy shiver. “Since we're in a library,” he began, licking his lips. “Why don't we take advantage of the peace and quiet?”

Harry's green eyes were black with lust, the prick in his lap stirring to life. The Veela was already delectably hard, and, with a growl, he tackled him.

Grinding his thick cock against Harry's, Draco plucked up his wand. “What do you say if we conjure up a few more mirrors, hm?”

Harry's messy dark head fell back with another groan. He'd created a monster.

  
  


_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!


End file.
